


if only in my dreams

by mellyflori



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 05:11:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5444489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellyflori/pseuds/mellyflori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s tempting, at times like this, for Aramis to imagine that the world has it out for him in particular. That somehow he alone, in all the universe, is the plaything of the fates. His sister would say that this is what comes of having spent too much time around the drama department kids in high school.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I love Christmas in fic, so I was already geared up to write one this year. Thank you to breathtaken for helping me find the right plot. She did the same thing last year and I hope she realizes she's on tap for next year as well.
> 
> As always, you can con bug me or flail at me [over on tumblr](http://werebearbearbar.tumblr.com)

It’s tempting, at times like this, for Aramis to imagine that the world has it out for him in particular. That somehow he alone, in all the universe, is the plaything of the fates. His sister would say that this is what comes of having spent too much time around the drama department kids in high school.

He spends an enjoyable few minutes staring out the window and imagining the discussion in his head. His reflection stares back, its mouth curling into a smile at the thought of his mother watching her children fight and make up and hug in the way they’ve been doing for twenty-five years now.

There’s snow falling outside, covering the stripes on the tarmac and the runway guide lights, and Aramis is trying to find that thing his sister calls his ‘irritatingly persistent optimism.’ He knows, from talking to the ticketing agent just now, that even if he could get out of Pittsburgh, a chance getting slimmer by the snowflake, he couldn’t get within 200 miles of where he’s meant to be going.

“Sir,” the agent had said, so kind and not the least bit condescending, “they don’t like for us to use this kind of language with the passengers, but you’re kinda screwed. At least for tonight.” He’d made a thinly-veiled innuendo and she’d laughed and winked, but neither of them had their hearts in it, Aramis knows.

Because here’s the real problem — even if he could get out of Pittsburgh, Aramis isn’t sure how much he wants to get within 200 miles of where he’s actually heading. Still, no matter what tomorrow brings, he’s not spending tonight in an uncomfortable chair using his backpack for a pillow. Not when he’s got Mark.

His sister had teased him when she saw him with a pile of envelopes. She’d asked if this was his annual try at being a Competent Adult, then laughed at his indignant expression. _Joke’s on her_ , he thinks, because if he hadn’t updated his contact list with the addresses of everyone who sent him a birthday card that year, he’d have forgotten that Mark lives nearby. Without that burst of responsibility, he’d be sleeping in the airport.

When Mark answers, the first thing Aramis hears is a blast of noise followed by that familiar booming voice. “Asshole, I haven’t heard from you in a year, you better not need bail money!"

Aramis laughs and thinks about how many times he and Mark talked each other into stupid shit while they were in college. Friends may come and friends may go, but the rugby teammate who helps you choreograph and perform the all-nude chorus line rendition of All I Want for Christmas Is You— that guy is with you forever.

“I know what law school loans look like, you can barely afford your fancy coffee. No, I’m stuck at your airport and my flight’s canceled until tomorrow. I’ve got enough for a cab, but not enough for a hotel. Can I crash on your couch?"

Mark takes a second to try and shush the person next to him. “I’m just— No just a minute— Would you — damn, man just give me a minute!” Laughing, he brings the phone back up to his mouth. “Sorry, Aramis, this place is ridiculously loud! Yeah, sure, come over! I’ll drive you back tomorrow after we stuff you with breakfast."

Aramis sags against the window a bit and lets out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “That’s great, man. Thanks."

The voice trying to hurry Mark along is back. “I gotta go, man. If I’m on the phone any longer, Paolo’s gonna kick me out of bed and you and I are gonna have to flip a coin for the sofa. You need the address?”

“No,” Aramis laughs. “I’ve got it, you get back your demanding, hot boyfriend. See you in an hour!"

The phone goes quiet and Aramis hoists his bag over his shoulder and heads for the taxi rank.

 

The automatic doors open and the cold and wind hit Aramis like a physical slap. The ticketing agent had said that the problem getting out of Pittsburgh wasn’t the snow, that the cold and wind were teaming up to make things harder than feet of snow ever could. Even knowing that ahead of time, he couldn’t have imagined it cutting into him like this. His eyes are burning.

There is exactly one taxi waiting outside the airport, and it’s clear the driver would have been just as happy to sit until the end of his shift and then go quietly home. Still, he takes the address from Aramis and asks if he needs help with his bag and soon enough they’re on the road.

Aramis has no way of knowing how long this drive would normally take, but with the blowing snow and the wind, he’s likely putting his cab driver’s children through college. Best to take advantage of the quiet time and make a few calls.

The first is to his mother, but it's his sister who answers. “Mom’s elbow-deep in bath time with grandkids, what’s up? You get to DC okay?” Ilyana sounds like she’s doing the dishes; she’s always doing something.

“If she’s wrangling the monsters, why aren’t you sitting down for a second and taking a break?"

“I love you, I do, but this is what I mean when I say you’ve gotta grow up sometime. There’s still work to be done, little brother, and no one else to do it.” Splashing noises, she’s definitely doing the dishes. "Mom and I should get a quiet minute together after the monsters are in bed. So what’s with the phone call, I thought you’d be having a lovely evening with Robin’s folks. Themed cocktails and decorated cookies and dinner that didn’t come out of a box.”  She’s laughing, he can hear it, and he supposes that if you’re a single mom of two incredibly active little kids, it’s either laugh or cry. "You’re living this life for both of us, Aramis. Don’t let me down.”

“Wish I could help you out, but I’m stuck in Pittsburgh for the night. Flights into DC won’t start again until they finish digging out in the morning."

He can hear the sound of the silverware clanking together as Ilyana loads the dishwasher. “You getting a hotel?"

“Aren’t you the one always telling me I need to be more responsible with my money?"

She sounds exasperated and Aramis can picture her scrubbing her forehead with the back of one soapy wrist. “Yes, but I think you can make an exception for things that keep you from sleeping on the airport floor."

He’s nervously rubbing the strap to his backpack, his thumb tracing over and over the webbing. “Well, never fear, I have a friend who lives in town who is letting me crash with him. So I’ll be safe and warm tonight and back in the air tomorrow."

“Good. Want me to tell Mom? Of course you do, that’s what you called to tell her. Sorry, it’s been a long day here.” She’s quiet for a second, then just as Aramis is about to say goodbye, Ilyana says, “I don’t know if you’re nervous, but remember, Robin’s family is going to be lucky to have you."

“And if they’re mean to me I should tell them to be nice, or my big sister is going to beat them up?"

Another pause. “Yeah, pretty much,” Ilyana says. There’s something in her voice, a kind of desperate sadness, and Aramis wants to tell the driver to take him back to the airport, the train station, anywhere that will get him to Florida so he can hug her.

“Should I say something terrible so this doesn’t get any closer to sappy?"

“Please,” she says, and he can hear the smile.

“The present I sent for Elisa is a whistle.”

Ilyana laughs louder than he’s heard her laugh in years. “You absolute shithead. I’m leaving it here so Mom can deal with it.” She laughs some more and then sniffles quietly. “You’re horrible."

Aramis leans his forehead against the car window and smiles. “I’m your little brother, that’s my job. I’ll call you tomorrow."

“I love you, Aramis."

“Ew,” he says. _I wish I had the words to tell you how important you are to me, how much I admire you_ , he doesn’t say. _I love you, too_ , he only thinks. But she hears it all just the same. 

The second call is to his girlfriend. Robin has been trying to get him to her parents house for a year, and no matter how valid his reasons are, he knows that every time he has to cancel on a visit she gets more and more frustrated. He knows that three months ago when he agreed to spend Christmas with them, she worried the same thing would happen. As they’ve inched closer to the visit and nothing else has come up she’s gotten more and more excited. He knows she won’t be angry with him for this, but she’ll be disappointed. Again.

He turns his phone over and over in his hand. Inside, when he looks for it, he can find sadness for disappointing her, for the furrow she’ll get between her eyebrows. What he can’t find is his sadness at the delay, his disappointment for missing her and the delay in this visit. Not that he looks hard, something frantic in the back of his head distracts him, tells him not to think about it, just to make the call, so she doesn’t worry any more than necessary.

Because she’s Robin, because she’s responsible enough to have been watching the news and the weather and the airline’s website, she already knows. “There you are, I was about to get worried. Did you just get off the plane?"

Which, yes, would have been the right time to call and tell her he was safe. If not then, when he knew it would be impossible to get there that night. She would probably even have accepted him calling just after he talked to Mark. But he’s been on the ground for almost two hours and he just… he can’t tell her that. He’s not sure he can disappoint her that much in one night.

“Not quite, just needed to straighten a couple of things out before I called so I could get you the most complete picture.”

There’s a pause but when she speaks again it’s with the same patient tone. “I could probably have helped with that. Still, I’m guessing you’re stuck for the night.”  She’s smiling, he can hear it. She’s making sure he knows she’s not angry.

“Sure am," he says. “I’m so sorry, Robin."

“Well, when they put you in charge of the weather and the air traffic control for the Pittsburgh International Airport, I’ll accept that apology. In the meantime, I’ll just be glad you’re safe for the night, and you’ll still be coming tomorrow.” There is a kind of frustrated hope in her voice that turns the last statement into a question.

This is a fundamental truth about Robin — she’s a good person. She’s level-headed and kind, and she has more patience that Aramis can fathom. In the two years they’ve been dating she’s forgiven him so much, put up with so much. When they met he was still high on life after college and his first real job, still so unaware of how far he was from grown-up. This is why he loves her, she settles everything around her, and for a man with as much chaos in his life as Aramis used to have, she’s like water in the desert. Dating Robin makes him want to be the version of himself she can see.

“I am, love, I promise.”  He’s absently twisted the strap of his backpack around his fingers and curled them into a fist. “I’ve got a college friend here, he’s letting me stay with him and his boyfriend for the night.”

Robin, whose only insecurity about their relationship is that she knows he’s also attracted to men, leaks a little stress into her words when she says, “I’m glad you’ll be warm and not in uncomfortable airport chairs. Though I’d have happily sprung for a hotel for tonight if you’d wanted."

She would have, too. Because Robin has more than ninety-four dollars in her checking account after buying Christmas presents. Because Robin is responsible. Robin is careful with her money. His fist curls in the backpack strap again and he vows to do better in the new year.

“I haven’t seen him in years, this will be good. I’ll get to terrorize his boyfriend with stories of Mark’s debauched past.”

Robin laughs, and Aramis can feel the fingers around his heart go slack, he loves when he can make her smile, it makes him feel like he’s done something right. “He’s one of your hooligans isn’t he?” She’s using her nickname for the pack of his rugby brothers he used to run wild with.

“Yeah, but we’re both respectable now.” He loosens his fingers from the strap and rubs his thumb over it again, pleased that she’s not upset.

“That’s good to hear,” Robin says. “I’m not sure what I’d do if that wild man showed up at the airport tomorrow instead of my Aramis."

Aramis can feel his fingers twist the strap again. “I’ll call you when I have the details for tomorrow ironed out, yeah?"

“Sounds like a plan,” Robin says. “Merry Christmas Eve Eve, Aramis. I love you."

“I love you. I’ll see you soon."

 

The rest of the drive into Squirrel Hill is quiet, the snow dampening the sound of the tires and the radio on so low it’s somehow quieter than total silence. The driver doesn’t make conversation, neither does Aramis. The first word he speaks since the airport is to ask Aramis if he needs the cab to wait.

“No,” Aramis says, handing over the fare and a tip he hopes will make up for the hassle. The wind is so loud, and his scarf is pulled up so high that Aramis doesn’t even hear the cab drive away. The house is a sturdy Victorian with dormer windows in the attic and a big front porch. It’s too close to the street for a front yard, but someone, and it must be Paolo, has shoehorned a row of winter-blooming plants into the strip of dirt between the brick retaining wall and the sidewalk.

Aramis thinks of Mark, a man who once claimed that the dirty socks draped over his lampshade were a valid interior decorating choice, living with a man who gardens by choice, and he feels the laugh bubble up inside him.

There’s an enormous wreath on the front door, perfectly framing the knocker in the middle. He can hear noise inside so he puts a little more force into knocking than he normally would, but even still he ends up knocking twice before there’s an answer.

Aramis is looking down when the door opens; he’s tugging his jacket open to pull his phone out, so the first thing he sees is the man’s legs. He is wearing pajama pants, fleece, in the loudest plaid Aramis has ever seen with his own eyes. Flicking his eyes up, Aramis meets the stranger’s gaze and— oh, dear God. Mark is a very, very lucky man.

Holding the door open is one of the most attractive people Aramis has ever seen. He’s so beautiful that the ridiculous Santa hat he’s wearing, complete with bells around the trim and enormous green jingle bell hanging from the white puff, is only making him more attractive.

Aramis blinks, hard, and finds his words. “Paolo?"

The man in the doorway flashes a lopsided grin and suddenly there’s a dimple in one cheek and Aramis feels it like he feels the cold creeping into his bones. “Really not, sorry."

“What?” Aramis is beginning to feel like an idiot. At least the blood rushing to his face is warming him up.

“I’m not Paolo."

Aramis’ brow creases. “I know you’re not Mark."

“Not Mark, either. What can I do for you?"

Over the stranger's shoulder, Aramis can see another person approaching the door. This one is wearing an absurd white cloud of a fake beard, but Aramis can see the smile around his eyes. “Everything alright?"

“Yeah," the man in the hat says. “Just getting intros out of the way."

Aramis shakes his head. “I’m so sorry, I must have the wrong address.” He fishes his phone from his pocket and checks the screen, then checks the number next to the door. “Or… maybe I don’t. I’m looking for Mark Winters.”

Something dawns in the expression of the man with the beard. He tugs it beard down, and Aramis has a moment of confusion as another beard is revealed. _How many fake beards is this man wearing?_ then, _Oh, no that’s his real beard_. It looks just as soft as the puffy white one.

“I’m not sure how to put this, but Mr. Winters doesn’t live here anymore.”  He watches as Aramis flicks his eyes back down to his phone and then up again. “He sold the house to the current owner more that a year ago; I did the contract reviews for the transaction."

While Aramis is standing there with his mouth open, a woman’s voice yells from another room. “Either you boys pay the heating oil bill, or close the door!"

The man in the hat gives Aramis a sympathetic smile. “Well, you’ve got at least one phone call to make, may as well do it out of the wind.”  He steps back and Aramis walks into the house like he’s on autopilot. This evening has just become extraordinarily surreal.

He’s dialing Mark even as the man in the hat is closing the door behind him.

“Are you on your way?” Mark asks, the noise of the party still going but quieter this time.

“Mark, I think I have the wrong address. I’ve got 1227 Darlington.”  Aramis is already thinking about how to fix this. He can walk down the hill to the convenience store and pull out some more cash, he can call another cab.

There’s silence on the other end of the phone, and then Mark starts laughing so loud Aramis has to pull the phone away from his ear. It goes on for a really exasperatingly long time. “Aramis, man, I’m so sorry. I’m really so sorry; you just didn’t specify which airport so I assumed you were at Logan. I don’t even live in that state anymore." 

Aramis can feel all the blood rush to his face again but this time, now that he’s indoors, he can feel the heat in his ears. “If you tell anyone, you’re dead to me,” he says, trying to pretend he’s rolling with this. 

“Your secret is safe with me; I’m sorry man I should have checked. You gonna be okay?"

Pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger Aramis tries not to let the worry come through. “Yeah, I’m good. There’s a row of chairs with my name on it. The next time I’m in Boston we’ll have lunch or something." 

“Merry Christmas, Aramis,” Mark says.

“You too, Mark.”  He thumbs the phone off and looks up. “I— uh." 

The man Aramis is trying not to think of as Beardy Blue-eyes says, “Logistical error?" 

“Something like that,” Aramis says, and the completely serious way the other man is taking this brings home exactly how absurd it is. The laugh fizzes up from his chest and Aramis can’t help dissolving into a fit of snickering. 

When he opens his eyes again, there’s a woman walking into the room. She’s older, but still clearly sharp. There are streaks of white in her mussed hair but iron in her posture. “Porthos, are you and Athos going to leave the kids in the other room while you hide out in here and— Oh, hello.”  She’s looking at Aramis, and her eyes are so incredibly kind. She reminds him of his mother and Aramis feels a stab of homesickness that almost knocks the wind out of him.

Beardy Blue-eyes comes to his rescue. “This gentleman was looking for the former occupants."

“Yes, ma’am,” Aramis says. “Sorry to intrude. Mr. Winter had offered his couch for the night while I wait for a rescheduled flight, and I was in such a rush I didn’t think to double-check the address before getting into the cab." 

She’s trying not to laugh, he can tell, but her expression is still kind. “Well, at least you’re not on the porch anymore." 

“Would you mind if I imposed on your hospitality for a moment longer while I call another taxi so I can get back to the airport?" 

“Of course,” she says, turning to the man in the hat and touching his arm. “Porthos, why don’t you two come back into the other room." 

“One second, Mama Lee,” the man, Porthos, says. He puts his hand over hers where it’s curled around his arm and turns to Aramis. “You told that Mr. Winters that there’s a row of chairs — if you _do_ get a cab, are you just going to be sleeping in the airport?"

Aramis starts trying, frantically, to figure out how to not look even more disastrous than he already does. “There are plenty of hotels."

“Most of which will be filled with other people with canceled flights,” says Beardy Blue-eyes says. 

The woman looks at Aramis, and he can tell she’s taking in everything about him. She’s seeing his backpack and his desperate grip on his phone. She’s seeing the worried look on his face and the way he can’t keep his fingers from toying with the strap of his bag. She knows, Aramis can tell, that whatever his reasons he has no intentions of spending the night in a hotel. 

“Son,” the woman says, “the chances of you getting a taxi up these hills in this weather and then getting him to take you to the airport? You’d have better luck flying out of here with your arms.” Aramis watches Porthos turn a soft, indulgent gaze down at this woman as she keeps talking. “Now, I could get this one,” she pats Porthos’ arm, “or Athos over there to drive you tonight, but it’s dark and I don’t need to start Christmas by listening to one of them apologize for wrecking my car." 

She reaches over with the hand that isn’t holding Porthos and tucks it into Aramis’ elbow. “So, instead how about you come into the other room and help the children get the tree is straight. You can take the sofa and in the morning, someone will take you to the airport." 

Aramis knows he looks horrified. “No. Oh, ma’am no. I couldn’t; I’m a complete stranger and you have kids in the house. That’s not safe."

“Ma’am. That's nice, someone raised you right, but you can call me Lee. And if you’re worried about the children, rest assured you’d have to get past their room first,” she points to Porthos and Beardy Blu— Athos, his name is Athos. “They’re both light sleepers and if anyone tries to get past them,” she shrugs, "it won’t take us long to clean the stain off the floor in the morning." 

Athos twitches a smile. “You could continue to argue, but Mama Lee is the kind of woman who has been a formidable old lady since she was twelve.” Porthos chokes back a laugh. “So I would suggest you just let a woman who has devoted her life to caring for others when they need it most keep doing what she loves best in the world. Consider it your Christmas present to her.” 

Lee pats Aramis on the arm and leads him out of the foyer and into the large living room at the back of the house. 

 

The first thing that catches his eye is the tree, propped in its stand, listing dangerously to starboard and so large that whatever topper they use is going to have to go on sideways. There’s a fire in the fireplace, and every piece of furniture in the room looks as though it were chosen for comfort rather than style. Somehow it all looks perfect together. Staring at him from where they’re curled on the sofas, slumped in chairs, sprawled on the floor, are the kids Lee was talking about. 

Porthos introduces them, rattling off a succession of names that Aramis prays he’s not supposed to remember. The oldest is a girl, probably eighteen, dressed all in black and wearing heavy eyeliner, but smiling warmly. The youngest is a boy no older than seven wearing purple pajama pants with jagged hems. He’s paired them with Hulk slippers. Between the two of them are eight other kids, boys and girls, smiling and not, some creeping protectively in front of others. 

“Hi,” Aramis says, waving nervously. “My name is Aramis, and I really appreciate you letting me help." 

Porthos grins at him, and Aramis wonders how long his scarf has been this tight. “Aramis is in a rough spot and needs a home for just a little bit,” Porthos turns back to the kids, "and we’re good at that, right?" 

Most of them still look guarded, the younger ones seem most nervous and Aramis guesses that it’s probably smart of them to be unsure about strange men. 

“Right,” Athos says. “Aramis come over here and hold the other side of the tree; Gloria is going to tell us when it’s straight from that side,” the oldest girl smile and nods. “And Alysha is going to tell us if it’s straight from that side.”  The girl sprawled on the floor in front of the fireplace looks up at them and blinks behind her glasses. 

“Sure,” she says. Aramis has no experience with this but he’s guessing Alysha is no older than ten. Her hair is braided tight to her head and at the bottoms of four or five braids on either side are grouped together into one purple butterfly barrette. “Hi." 

“Thanks for helping,” Aramis says, and Alysha shrugs, but there’s a little smile at the corners of her enormous brown eyes. 

Over the course of the next twenty minutes, Aramis finally starts to feel the panic and tension of his arrival in the house loosening its grip on him. He starts to find his voice again. 

“It’s too far to the left,” Gloria says.

“Okay, but what if it’s just not far enough to the right?  Have you thought about that? Because if it’s not far enough to the right, that’s Athos’ problem.” There’s an indignant noise from the other side of the tree and looking through the branches, Aramis can see Athos staring back at him, surprised.

Porthos chokes on a laugh and excuses himself to help Lee in the kitchen. “If I stay in here I’m going to get myself in trouble." 

Aramis smiles at him and watches as Porthos leaves the room. It takes a second to realize that he’s staring at Porthos’ back, the way his shoulders are stretching his shirt and the way the shirt is riding up just a bit to show a sliver of skin above the blindingly plaid pants. His throat feels tight, and he’s jerking his head back toward the tree when he feels Athos’ fingers brush against his around the trunk. Athos’ hands are warm, and Aramis feels the spot where they’re touching, the warmth spreading through him and taking away the last of the cold. 

He knows it’s ridiculous, but for a moment, between the warmth of Porthos’ smile and Athos’ hand, it feels like everything for the last two days has been leading him to this place, this room, these people. Aramis takes a breath, finally, and knows -- is certain like he hasn’t been in years — that Porthos isn’t the only one heading for trouble.

 

Once he and Athos, and Gloria and Alysha, get the tree straight and secure in its stand, Lee arranges the lights and then the rest of the horde take turns hanging ornaments and draping huge handfuls of tinsel over the sagging branches. 

Aramis starts to pick up names and personalities for the kids. He finds he likes one of girls in the middle best, she reminds him of Ilyana. She has that same look of barely-restrained maternal instinct. His phone buzzes in his pocket and Aramis wonders if his sister has some kind of telepathy. 

_[Ilyana - 9:28 pm] You make it to there safe?_

_[Aramis - 9:29 pm] I made it to the house safe. Things got weird from there. I’m fine, safe and warm, I’ll tell you the rest tomorrow._

“Aramis?”  It’s Porthos, leaning in from the kitchen. “I could use a hand if you’re able.”

Lee has started herding the kids upstairs and they’re bouncing off of Aramis’ legs as he makes his way into the kitchen. 

“Can you grab the other tray?” Porthos asks and Aramis nods, happy to be earning his keep even a little. He follows Porthos into the living room, careful not to let the mugs or the marshmallows fall, weaving in between couches and chairs. 

“It’s tradition,” Athos says from where he’s finishing putting the unused ornaments back into boxes. “The kids get hot chocolate when they start decorating,” he gestures to the empty cups on the side tables. “The grown-ups get theirs when the kids go to bed.”  He points across the room and when Aramis turns he sees Porthos holding up two bottles of cordials.

“Ours have…” he trails off thinking of the right clever thing to say. 

“An after-market addition?” Aramis tries. 

Porthos laughs, loud and deep, and nods. “I like that! I’m gonna use that." 

Aramis busies himself taking the kids’ dirty mugs into the kitchen while Lee is finishing up with the kids upstairs.

 When they’re all in the same room again, curled on couches, mugs in hand, Lee turns her clever eyes on him.

“Where were you heading tonight, if Mother Nature hadn’t reminded you who’s in charge?"

He tells her about his trip, about Robin and her family. He almost tells her about how he’s sure he’s let Robin down again, that while he’s sorry to have disappointed her, he’s not entirely sure he’s sorry to be here for the night. 

“I don’t know that I’d call myself a religious woman,” Lee says, “but I do know that most times things happen the way they do for a reason. And that includes you showing up at our front door tonight. I’ve spent my life taking in people who need help, and I’m not stopping now.” She stands and pats his arm. “The couch is yours. It folds out, but I find it’s more comfortable as a couch. We’ll see you in the morning." 

Porthos stands and hugs her, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing with his eyes clenched shut, for Porthos every hug with her is precious. She bends and kisses Athos on his cheek and tosses a wave over her shoulder as she starts up the stairs.

Gathering the mugs, Porthos goes into the kitchen to top everyone off again. Athos turns to Aramis.

“I dislike even having to say this, but the state of the world is what it is and I would be remiss if I didn’t. He’s bigger than I am, he seems more imposing, but I’m fast and mean. If you try to hurt Mama Lee or one of those children, I will get to you faster than he can even blink and even the dogs wouldn’t find the remains." 

Aramis blinks. “Understood." 

“Thank god that’s out of the way, now we can both enjoy our cocoa.”  He looks up and smiles at Porthos, tray in hand, coming back into the room. 

Porthos drops a handful of marshmallows in Aramis’ mug and passes it to him, he passes Athos’ as it is. “Athos doesn’t like marshmallows. He also hates love and joy.” Aramis starts coughing and nearly chokes on a marshmallow when Porthos winks at him. 

They spend a quiet hour talking about travel horror stories, good vacations, which of the kids is likely to try and open their presents early. As they talk, Porthos slumps lower and lower in his chair, and his hand stops absently brushing against Athos’ and curls around it instead. The second time Porthos’ head jerks up, Athos brushes a kiss across his knuckles. 

“Bedtime for you, I think.” Athos tells him.

“Got me all high on cocoa and now you’re going to take advantage of me, is that it?" 

Athos’ answer is perfectly dry. “I’m incapable of resisting the promise of a wild night I see in your eyes right now.” He squeezes Porthos hand and excuses himself for a moment to get  Aramis a spare pillow and a few blankets. They say their goodnights and Athos leads Porthos to the stairs. 

On his way past, Porthos pauses a moment to smile at Aramis and push his hand through Aramis’ hair. “Glad you’re here,” he says, so sleepy he can barely keep his eyes open.

He’s looking forward to seeing them in the morning, even if only to say goodbye. Behind that, lying in wait for him, is the knowledge that he hasn’t looked forward to seeing Robin like this for months. Aramis falls asleep feeling Athos’ fingers against his around the tree and Porthos’ hand in his hair.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “They’ve been very nice, considering I’m a total stranger who showed up on their doorstep like an abandoned kitten.” Aramis rubs his forehead, eyes clenched, and says something that’s been sitting in the back of his head since he and Gloria had finally agreed the tree was straight the night before. “I wish this is where I’d been heading."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating is for later chapters. Next chapter, actually.

The light coming through the window the next morning has a peculiar quality completely foreign to Aramis. Porthos recognizes it. Porthos can tell even before he sits up to look out. He stretches his leg across the too-wide bed and nudges Athos with his toes.

“Athos. Snow!”

Athos responds by pulling the pillow down over his face. 

Porthos gets up, using the comforter as a robe and checks out the window. A pitiful whine rises up from where Athos is still buried under the covers. 

“You’ve got three blankets and fleece sheets, shut up." 

There’s an indignant snort from under the pillow and Porthos can’t hold back his grin. 

The view from the window shows that at some point the wind died down, but the snow and cold never did. The sidewalks and streets are covered, there must be at least a foot, and it’s still coming down. From up the street there’s a noise and suddenly Porthos is nine-years-old again. He’s curled in bed with his foster-siblings on either side and his stomach is twisted with excitement because if there’s enough snow for a plow, there might be enough to miss school.

Crunching the snow under its chain-covered wheels as it makes the first pass, the plow pushes the snow to the sides, packing in the driveways on either side, barricading car doors shut. It’ll need to make at least three more passes before the street is driveable, and Porthos is already planning what to do with all the piled-up snow. 

He’ll get the kids bundled up, the little ones are probably already hunting for gloves, and they’ll do at least one snowman. Oh, and a fort!  He’ll start building a fort! He won’t get far because Athos will get frustrated at the sub-par structural engineering and come take over, but that will be even better. 

It takes him a second to recognize the other truth of having this much snow plowed off the center of the streets but piled up on the sides. No matter what the roads look like, that car’s not going anywhere. 

Oh, crap. Aramis’ flight. 

Porthos tugs on a pair of jeans and a sweater Mama Lee insists she knitted herself even though she’s never knitted a day in her life and just wanted to watch Porthos decide whether or not to call her on her bullshit.  He’s still pulling his glasses over his ears when he hits the landing of the stairs and sees Aramis sitting on the sofa, his phone in his hands. 

“What’s the news?” Porthos asks. 

Aramis drops his head until it’s resting on the top ridge of the phone. He rolls his forehead against the phone’s edge until he’s looking sideways up at Porthos. “Nothing yet. I was on hold for twenty minutes and then got disconnected.  I can’t find anything on the website for the airport or the airline." 

Porthos reaches down to squeeze his shoulder. “Come make coffee with me, you can try again in a bit."

It’s an actual effort to not press up into the touch. “Yeah."

 

They start the coffee and Porthos helps Aramis fold the blankets and stack them with the pillows. By the time Athos comes shuffling into the kitchen they’re seated at the table, Porthos telling Aramis about each kid and how they came to live with Lee. 

“It was nothing official, but that was just such a bad place that— hello.” He smiles up at Athos’ wild bedhead and sleepy eyes. Porthos takes his hand and quickly kisses each knuckle in turn. “Coffee’s ready.” Athos gives a tiny whimper. "Yeah, I can see in your eyes that you love me, you can tell me for real when you can use words again." 

Aramis smiles into his coffee cup and absolutely does not laugh. 

The children start pouring into the kitchen, making themselves breakfast, talking and hugging Porthos and Athos, so Aramis excuses himself to the other room and tries calling the airline again. 

It takes another ten minutes of hold music before he reaches a ticketing agent.

“Hi,” he says. “I’m calling about my connecting flight. I’m in Pittsburgh." 

“Oh,” says the agent, Kim, and even Aramis can hear the pity in that tone.  “Where are you supposed to be heading, sir?"

“I’m supposed to be flying into DC, but I’d take any of the area airports."

“Give me one second,” she says. It turns out to be almost two minutes. “According to our latest reports, all flights in or out of Reagan National and Dulles are canceled for the rest of the day. We don’t have any update from BWI any more recent than four-thirty this morning, at which point they were reporting that they were delaying all flights until after 2 pm at the earliest."

Aramis sighs, pinching his nose and trying not to think about Robin’s reaction. “What about… can you hold on a moment?" 

“Of course, sir.” She’s polite and Aramis immediately feels bad for delaying her.  He pulls up his favorite travel website and checks car rentals in Philadelphia. Every agency shows no availability. 

“Sorry about that,” Aramis says, bringing the phone back up to his ear. “I was doing a quick check to see if I could fly into Philadelphia and drive down."

“I could have saved you the trouble,” Kim says, and her voice is as kind as it can be. “Sir, have you actually checked the weather reports from the east coast? It’s still snowing out there." 

Aramis can feel his heart sink at the same time he feels a kind of desperate energy. “Thank you. I’ll try back closer to noon and see what the report from BWI is." 

Kim has one last suggestion. “I’m not sure what the wait times will be like once we start getting calls from people who are significantly less reasonable about the weather than you are; you would probably have better luck checking the airport website." 

He sighs. She’s right, of course. “Thanks, Kim. You have a good day." 

“You too, sir. Thanks for calling." 

He’s still sitting on the sofa, fingers curled around the phone when he hears footsteps.  Athos slides his coffee cup onto the table in front of him, pauses like he’s going to say something, and then turns to leave. In its own way, this gesture - coffee and privacy - is as intimate and touching as Porthos’ hand on his shoulder was. 

Robin sounds like she’s barely awake but happy to hear from him. 

“Have you looked outside?” he asks, his forehead resting in his hand. 

“Mmf, no. I’ve hardly even opened my eyes. Hang on.” He can hear the covers shuffling around and then Robin’s quiet gasp. “Okay. So, I’m guessing this means you’re not on your way." 

“Dulles and Reagan are both closed for the day, nothing in or out." 

“National. Don’t call it Reagan. My brain isn’t awake enough for that. Did you check on BWI?" 

Aramis is running his finger over the piping on the edge of a throw pillow. “Nothing in or out until at least 2. The lady at the airline said they’d make another update later." 

Robin sighs and Aramis can picture her scrubbing a hand over her sleepy face. She’s adorable in the mornings before the tension of the day creeps over her. “Did you check Philadelphia?” 

He’s pressing his hand down into the pillow, watching the fabric push up between his fingers. She’s disappointed. She’s hiding it well, but he can hear the strain. At least this time, she can’t be disappointed in him.

“I did, it’s still snowing there. And all the car rental agencies are out of cars. So even if I could get there, I couldn’t get out.”  He puts his hand over the top of his coffee mug and feels the steam gather on his palm. 

“Did you check Richmond?” Robin asks and Aramis freezes. He didn’t. He didn’t even think to, just doesn’t know the geography of the area well enough.

“Not yet." 

“Well, try that, will you? Text me and let me know?” He’s trying not to read anything into the careful neutrality of her voice. 

“I will."

“Thanks. I’m going to go back to sleep."

“Love you,” Aramis says.

“You too." 

Aramis drops his head back until it thunks onto the back of the sofa. He tries not to sigh.  Porthos voice from the doorway startles him. 

“Kids are doing pancakes, you want some?"

Aramis stares at him. He’s not asking because Aramis means anything in particular to him, not because he’s expecting anything, not even because it’s the holidays. He’s asking because that’s the kind of man he is and this is the way his mother raised him. Porthos is just a good man. 

“I would love that, thanks." 

Porthos smiles and pats the doorframe. “One plate coming up.”

Aramis smiles back at him. Even after Porthos turns his back, Aramis is still smiling.

Richmond is also out of cars. Just to cover his bases, Aramis checks Charlotte. 

_[9:17 am - Aramis] No cars in Richmond or Charlotte either. Will wait for announcement from Baltimore and text again. Love you._  

_[9:19 am - Robin]  Okay._

Aramis looks up to see Porthos in the doorway again, this time with a plate in his hands. “Everything okay?" 

“Yeah.”  Porthos looks at him. “No. The DC airports are closed for the day. Baltimore might open again, but we won’t know until later." 

“Well, then you _definitely_ have time for breakfast.” Porthos smiles. He reaches down and takes Aramis’ hand, tugging him up from the sofa. Aramis feels his warm palm and the pressure as he pulls. 

 

The kids are outside or off in their rooms, and the house seems too quiet. At some point, Lee came downstairs, and she’s joined Athos and Porthos at the table. They discuss the evening’s plans while Aramis eats. 

“I’m counting on you two to do the assembly. I’m old, and it’s hard for me to see all those parts." 

Athos stares at her. “Yesterday you could help Matias with his Lego set for two hours but when it comes to assembling a spaceship for Alysha and Antony your eyes are suddenly bad?" 

Lee reaches out and pinches him just above the elbow. “It’s not nice to talk back. You were raised better than that.” Aramis tries not to choke around a mouthful of food. 

He laughs and rubs at the skin. “I certainly was when I was here, you’re right. Of course, we’ll put it together.” 

She smiles, satisfied that her boys will do their part. “Aramis, do you need to let your family know where you are?" 

He does. He’d promised Ilyana that he’d get back to her and he should let his mother know what’s going on. “I should call my mother, you're right.”  Aramis pushes his plate away and drops his head into his hands. 

“You should. Mothers worry." 

Homesickness closes around Aramis’ heart and tightens like fingers. It must show on his face because Lee reaches over and squeezes his hand. 

“She and my sister will go to Mass tonight, and they’ll make black beans for Christmas dinner, and my niece and nephew will tear open every single one of their presents in less than two minutes. Mom will call every relative she still has back in Cuba, and my sister will try to force her kids to set the table before they play with their toys.” The words rush out of him and he finds his voice is tight and quiet. 

“Call your mom,” Porthos says. “Then come help me ’n Athos and the kids build a fort."

Athos stares at Porthos. “In what alternate reality do I build snow forts?"

"Fine, you can watch." Porthos winks at Aramis and stands, clearing the plates and putting them in the dishwasher. Once he's finished, the three of them leave Aramis in peace.

 

His mother answers on the third ring. “So you’re not frozen to death somewhere?" 

Aramis laughs. “No, I’m fine. Hey, I love you." 

There’s half a breath before his mother says, “I love you too, my sweet boy. What’s wrong?” He’d thought he was keeping the strain out of his voice; he should have known better. His mother can always tell. 

“I’m stuck in Pittsburgh for at least the next four hours. I’m not sure I’m going to make it to Robin’s parents’ house and I’m thinking about all the things I could have done better. Could have made my reservation for the day before just to be sure, all kinds of things." 

His mother lets him talk, doesn’t interrupt or give him meaningless platitudes. When he’s finished spinning fantasies about all the ways he could have been perfect and responsible she says, “All my life and the only person I’ve ever known who was harder on themselves than you is your sister.”  Aramis huffs a laugh. “My angel, if you are rewriting the past there are a great many things I would ask you to take care of for me as well. But since that’s not a thing that can happen, why don’t we think about what can happen." 

“Yes, Mama.” God, he misses her so much. 

“So, if you are not at the airport, where are you?" 

“If I tell you, you can not tell Ilyana,” he answers and she starts to laugh. 

“This will be good, I can tell. Your secret is safe with me." 

He tells her about keeping Mark’s address, of calling Mark and the cab ride. He tells her about knocking on the door and the man who answered and about Lee letting him stay. When he talks about the kids and decorating the tree, she makes the kind of happy noise mothers make when their children are safe and well cared-for. 

He finishes by telling her about them feeding him this morning, about how they were the best pancakes he’d ever had, and she hums. “They seem like good people. All of them, not just the mother." 

“They are, they really are. Porthos made me breakfast and Athos threatened me if I hurt the kids and together they’re going to build a snow fort and put together a spaceship as a gift from Santa.” He tries not to think about how the fingers around his heart are loosening, but his mother sees through him. 

“I think if I asked you to tell me more about these men you could talk for hours.” 

Aramis feels the blush creeping up his neck. He’s barely allowed himself to look at those two, let alone think about how much he could like them if he let himself. He knows that Athos has beautiful eyes, but Aramis has stamped down any attempt by his brain to notice how long and strong Athos' fingers are. By the same token, he’s seen Porthos’ smile, he’s even returned it, but Aramis hasn’t let it sink into his bones and warm him like he knows it could. 

“They’ve been very nice, considering I’m a total stranger who showed up on their doorstep like an abandoned kitten.” Aramis rubs his forehead, eyes clenched, and says something that’s been sitting in the back of his head since he and Gloria had finally agreed the tree was straight the night before. “I wish this is where I’d been heading." 

His mother is gentle with him, the same way she’s been all his life. “I can tell. I don’t know what to tell you to do with that, but if there’s anything I can do to help you’ll say so?" 

“Just pray for me to get a flight out this afternoon before I get any more comfortable. If Lee feeds me again, I’m in danger of moving in.”  He can feel the smile tugging at his mouth and tries not to think about how nice it would be to let the love in this house wrap around him. 

“I love you, my Aramis." 

“I love you, Mama.”  He promises to call her when his plans are finalized and she promises to hug Ilyana and the kids for him. After they hang up, Aramis sits back and just stares out the window.  The snow is getting lighter, but it’s still coming down. The plow has been back around again and left tall mounds near the sidewalk.  From where he’s sitting, Aramis can see Porthos walking across the yard with a child under each arm. Stopping in front of the heaps left by the plow, Porthos tosses first one squealing, giggling child and then the other into the snow.  He stands, bent with his hands braced on his thighs, and laughs as they scramble back out to attack him. 

Aramis can’t help his smile, he can’t help the warmth in his chest. He wishes like hell he could.  Keep busy. Yes. He can keep busy and that will help. 

 

When he has his gloves and scarf on, Aramis joins everyone else in the yard. Porthos is showing the kids how to pack snow for a fort. From his spot next to the door, Athos is yelling suggestions and corrections. 

“If you— No! If you do that it’s just going to fall down the first time a snowball hits it! How do you expect— You’re doing this just to irritate me, aren’t you?”

Porthos looks up, the picture of innocence. “What, babe? We’re just making a fort, that’s all.” 

Athos rolls his eyes and Aramis hunches his scarf up around his smile. 

“The way you’re putting the walls you’re not allowing for any— Right. You know what? You win.” Athos hands his coffee mug to Aramis and stomps out into the snow.  He shoulders Porthos out of the way and starts showing Samuel how to provide proper side support so the walls won’t come crumbling down. 

Porthos dusts some of the snow from his jeans and comes to stand next to Aramis. 

“He’s an engineer. I should probably feel bad about using it against him.” He takes Athos’ mug from Aramis’ hand and shrugs. “I don’t.” 

Aramis frowns. “I thought he was a lawyer? He said he looked over the sale documents for the house?" 

Porthos takes a sip of coffee and smiles. “Nah, just really good at catching little problems. Attention to detail and all, yeah?” He wraps his fingers around the coffee mug and puts his nose right over the steam. “He’d have made a good lawyer, but he’s a better engineer." 

They watch Athos arrange his small workforce into an organized unit with quiet, even instructions and sensible logic. “He thinks he’s too stuffy for kids,” Porthos says, and a smile breaks over his face like the sunrise. “But he’s just calm. These kids could use some calm. They love him.” 

Opening the door, Porthos reaches in and sets the mug on the kitchen counter. He slides his gloved hand into Aramis’ and squeezes. “C’mon, let’s go make enough ammo to knock down those walls. He’ll make the best face when they fall, you gotta see it.”  He tugs Aramis out into the yard and for the next two hours Aramis doesn’t think about airports or schedules or where he should be today. He doesn’t think about anything past this yard, these people, and how Athos’ face when the fort falls down is the funniest thing he’s seen in months. 

 

They take a break just before noon and Aramis ducks inside to check the airport status on his phone. There are a few flights leaving, but they aren’t allowing anything to land until the next morning. Aramis calls the airline to see if he can be on one of those flights. 

“Sir, I’m sorry, but there’s only one flight leaving from Pittsburgh to Baltimore tomorrow and it’s already seriously overbooked."

 Aramis scrubs at his forehead and tries not to hear Robin’s voice when he tells her the news. “What about Richmond or Philly?" 

“The only flight to Richmond is one that lays over in Baltimore, and the only flight to Philadelphia leaves at eleven tomorrow morning and has a seven-hour layover in Atlanta. You’d arrive in Baltimore after 10 pm." 

“And my return flight is at 8 am the morning after,” he says, distracted by the logistics. "Are there any seats on later flights out on the 26th?” There aren’t. There’s one for late on the 27th, but Aramis is due back at work that morning. On a whim, he asks about flights to the airport near his mother and then goes pale at the price. The same is true of any chance at flying home earlier, it’s too short notice and the flights are in too much demand. The pause while he thinks about what to do goes on far longer than he means for it to and he only snaps out of it when the ticketing agent clears her throat. 

“What would you like to do, sir?"

Aramis thinks about the emergency credit card in his wallet, there’s enough for a few nights in a hotel, but not enough for the more extravagant flights. He thinks about how the only true responsibility he’s shown in years is to save that card for actual emergencies. Then he thinks about how little time he’d actually spend with Robin. He does not, _does not_ think about Athos or Porthos or Lee or the herd of happy kids just outside. 

“Can we just confirm my return flight from Pittsburgh on the 26th and cancel the Washington leg of the trip?” They can and they do. Now all he has to do is tell Robin. 

The phone rings so many times Aramis is sure he’s going to get her voicemail. He’s staring out the kitchen window while he’s waiting, so he sees the moment when Porthos stops to wave at him and catches a wad of snow just above his cheekbone. Aramis watches him turn to see Athos staring, mock-disappointed, at Samuel. 

“You’re gonna blame the kid?” Porthos yells, and Aramis feels himself smile in spite of all the information he’s gotten in the last few minutes. He’s laughing when Robin finally answers. 

“Hey!” she says, taking his laugh exactly the wrong way. “Good news?” 

“Robin! I thought I was going to have to leave a message.” Aramis clears his throat. "So I checked the airport and talked to the airline-“ 

“You’re not coming.”  Her voice is perfectly flat.

“Nothing’s landing at Baltimore today and the only flight for tomorrow is overbooked already." 

“What about-" 

“The only flight to Richmond would be one that lays over in Baltimore, so it’s canceled. And the next flight into Philadelphia leaves at 11 am tomorrow morning and doesn’t get in until late." 

Robin sighs. “How late?"

Aramis has his hand on Athos’ abandoned coffee mug from earlier in the day.  He’s turning it again and again on the counter. “There’s a huge layover in Atlanta and it doesn’t get into Philly until after ten at night." 

“We could do that,” Robin says, though she sounds more desperate than hopeful. 

“It would take three hours to get to your parents’ house and I’d have to head back out to the airport at six the next morning. I wouldn’t even get to meet your parents." 

“I could arrange it with them, we could have a super late dinner after you get in, or an early breakfast the next morning." 

“Robin, that would be spending more time in the Atlanta airport than I would with you." 

Robin’s voice is sad, and that is somehow worse than the flatness. “I love you, Aramis.”  She takes a breath. “Maybe you shouldn’t come. I want someone who wouldn’t hesitate to spend seven hours in the Atlanta airport just to spend six hours with me. Someone who’s _excited_ to meet my family. And you want someone you want to do that for.  I don’t make you want to do that. We deserve better than this." 

“I could—" 

“You could. But you don’t want to. There’s nothing wrong with that, but we deserve better." 

The silence stretches a heartbeat too long. “I’m sorry, Robin." 

“I know, Aramis. Me too.” He can hear the hitch in her voice. "I’ll call you when we’re both home." 

They say a goodbye that Aramis is ashamed to feel isn’t as hard as it ought to be, and he thumbs the ‘end’ button on his phone. Whether by accident or design, he’s alone in the kitchen for a long time. 

 

It’s Porthos who breaks the silence, barreling into the house, covered in snow and laughing. “You cheat!” he yells back out the door and then turns to Aramis. His smile stops Aramis’ breath. “Hey, what’s the word from the airport?"

Aramis can feel his heart catch and turn over like an old engine. “Not a chance, I’m afraid. They let me keep the reservation on my flight home from here, and that will be fine." 

Porthos frowns. “What about your girl?" 

Aramis throws on a lighthearted tone and hopes it doesn’t sound as fake as it feels. “Ex, apparently. My ex-girl.” He smiles and spins the coffee mug on the counter again before looking up to meet Porthos’ eyes. 

Porthos reaches out with both arms and pulls Aramis into a tight hug. He’s still in his coat and hat and so is Aramis, so the hug should be awkward and uncomfortable. It’s not. It’s perfect. Aramis drops his head to Porthos’ shoulder and wraps his arms around Porthos’ waist. It feels _so good_. 

“If I’m honest, it’s been going this way for a while. She’s a woman who really knows what her future’s going to look like, and every day she was getting closer to seeing I wasn’t it. This was just one disappointment too many." 

“Hey,” Porthos says, jostling him in the hug, “enough of that. You’re not a disappointment and it wasn’t your fault."

Aramis squeezes his eyes tight and lets himself think that might be true. “It’s okay. It is. She said she deserved someone who would want to make this trip happen anyway they could, and I deserved someone who made me want that." 

“Smart girl,” Porthos says into the hair above Aramis’ ear.

“I was always so scared of letting her down,” he whispers into Porthos’ shoulder. 

Porthos squeezes around his shoulders. “You deserve someone who could never be let down by you being you." 

Aramis is dangerously close to crying when the back door opens again and Athos comes in.

“Is… everything all right?"

Expecting him to jump back, embarrassed and caught, Aramis is surprised when Porthos just keeps holding him. “Aramis called it quits with his lady."

“I’m so sorry to hear that, Aramis. What will you do about the trip?" 

Aramis breaks the hug and busies himself putting his phone away and stripping off his coat. “Well, I’m still due to leave here day after tomorrow, we were able to keep that reservation. So that’s good news." 

“So would you be able to stay another day?” Athos asks and Aramis tries not to let his surprise show on his face. 

“No, that’s too much. But if the offer of a ride is still available, I’d really appreciate a lift to my hotel once I make this reservation.” He smiles and tries to look confident and composed. 

Porthos levels a look at him. “You want us to send you to a hotel.”  He turns and shouts up the stairs. “Mama Lee, would you come down here?" 

Lee comes down the stairs with an armload of presents; she’s clearly been upstairs wrapping. Athos takes them from her, kisses her on the cheek and heads into the living room to distribute them under the tree. 

“So is there a plan?” she asks.

“Aramis had to cancel his trip,” Porthos says. “And now he says he’s going to stay in a hotel until he leaves.” 

Lee takes his cheeks in her hands and looks into his face, and Aramis feels like they’re the only two people in this conversation. “Aramis, I could tell you how much we’d love to have you join us, that this house is built on building a family where we find it and making the most of unexpected blessings.  But all that is what I want, or what these boys want. What about you, do _you_ want to spend your Christmas in a hotel?" 

Aramis thinks about when he used to know what he wanted and believe it was the right thing for him. Most of those wants were youthful whims, but the feeling of knowing for sure what he desired is something he was sure he’d forgotten. 

“I don’t,” he says. “I really don’t."

Lee smiles and pats his face. “Then you’ll stay here. The couch is spoken for tonight, but there are other options." 

Aramis tries to think of some way to tell her how much it means to him, that she reminds him of how much he misses Christmas with his mother.

“Let me cook,” he blurts out. “I would really like to thank you for letting me into your home for so long, let me make my mother’s black beans for you."

“I would like that,” Lee says, and her voice is so warm.

Athos voice startles him, Aramis had almost forgotten he and Mama Lee weren’t alone. “What will you need for it? We can go shopping together.” In his tone, Aramis can hear everything that he’s not saying, that he’s glad to see Lee so happy, that he’s giving Aramis his trust, and under it all, maybe, that he’s glad for himself that Aramis is staying. 

“Yeah,” Porthos says, and Aramis turns to look at him. Porthos’ eyes are so deep, and his smile is taking over all the corners of Aramis’ heart. “Make a list. Athos and I’ll go with you. The sidewalks aren’t clean, so we’ll have to keep to the sides of the streets, but it’s only a couple of blocks.” He grips Aramis’ shoulder and grins. "We can have our own adventure, just the three of us."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brain: Melly, you're a DC native, surely you know how much snow has to be on the ground before they shut down the airport. And since when have they ever done it for more than a day?
> 
> Me: Shut up and stop trying to logic my fic. Look, Porthos is grinning again.
> 
> Brain: OH. Oh, yes. That is nice, isn't it?
> 
> Me: *smug*


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It turns out that Aramis doesn’t remember the recipe by heart. Mostly because there isn’t really a recipe, per se, only generations of tweaking to a meal so much a part of them it’s a kind of genetic memory. Still, he calls his mother just to be sure.
> 
> “I need the recipe for the black beans."
> 
> There’s a pause. “Are you making it for Robin?"
> 
> “No.” He pauses and the silence stretches out between them. "I should back up."
> 
> There’s laughter in his mother’s voice. “You should."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'm over at [the tumblr](http://werebearbearbar.tumblr.com). Come babble at me about swashbucklers or historical underwear or Porthos' filthy mouth. Or anything else that takes your fancy, really.

It turns out that Aramis doesn’t remember the recipe by heart. Mostly because there isn’t really a recipe, _per se_ , only generations of tweaking to a meal so much a part of them it’s a kind of genetic memory. Still, he calls his mother just to be sure.

“I need the recipe for the black beans."

There’s a pause. “Are you making it for Robin?"

“No.” He pauses and the silence stretches out between them. "I should back up."

There’s laughter in his mother’s voice. “You should."

Aramis scrubs his fingers through his hair. “I told Robin I wasn’t going to be able to make it. There was more to the conversation but… Robin says we both deserve better and I— I know she does."

His mother makes the perfect noise of love and sympathy. “I know it hurts, but you are both young and you will each find someone who loves you for who you are."

He can’t help but choke out a laugh. “That’s what she said."

“You always said she was smart. So you won’t be seeing each other anymore?"

“I don’t think so. No."

His mother’s voice is warm and soft and it feels like every time he ever ran to her as a child. “I love you very much, this will pass.” She gives him a second then says, “So where are you?"

“This sounds so bizarre but, I’m staying in Pittsburgh? My return flight doesn’t leave until the 26th and they wouldn’t let me go stay in a hotel."

She sounds so amused. “They wouldn’t _let_ you."

He knows the laughter isn’t staying out of his voice either. “There was perhaps some guilt involved."

“But the short version is that they didn’t want you, a good boy stuck in a strange city, to have to stay in a hotel on Christmas.” He hums in agreement and she says, “These are good people, Aramis.”

Aramis clutches at the back of his own neck. “Mama, I’m looking forward to it. I feel like… I should be more upset about Robin. I should—"

“Who said you should?” She's so patient.

“Only me."

“I love you, my Aramis, and you have just the type of heart to think that every sadness should be a heartbreak. Listen to me; you are both young and you know that the decision you made together was the right one. What good is it to say you both deserve better but then stop yourself from trying to find it? You will have plenty of chances in your life to hurt over things past that can’t be undone; don’t start now.”

He still isn’t entirely sure what he deserves, but he knows he loves his mother, that he trusts her.

With a gasp, the answer to her first question suddenly comes to her. “You’re making the beans for them. Oh, Aramis. Of course you are trying to repay their hospitality if you can. Of course you are. I love you."

He smiles and feels the weight on his heart lift a little. “I love you, Mama."

She talks him through the basics of the meal and reminds him of a few things he’s done so many times without thinking, that they’d entirely slipped his mind. Together they put together a list of things to get, and some acceptable substitutes for the ingredients he doubts will be found in the average suburban grocery store.

He tucks the list in his pocket and goes to find Athos and Porthos. They have groceries to buy.

 

The walk to the store is four blocks long but it takes them forever because they keep shoving each other into banks of snow. At first, it's Porthos jostling Athos to the side, bumping him against the mounds of snow. Athos’ calm lasts through a handful of stumbles until finally he ducks around to the other side, dropping his shoulder, and driving Porthos sideways into a massive pile.

Aramis thinks he’s safe, standing to the side and laughing as Porthos, sitting up now, tries to get the snow out of the neck of his jacket.

“The look on your face!” Aramis is bent over with his palms on his thighs, laughing so hard it hurts to talk. "You were so surpr— gah!” He’d barely felt the hand on his back and now he’s pitching forward, face-first into the snow. Right on top of Porthos.

He can feel Porthos’ warmth even through his layers, can feel the muscles of Porthos’ thighs under him. Aramis scrambles up to his knees and sees Porthos smiling at him. “Yeah? Let’s talk about the look on your face, eh?” He turns to grin at Athos. “Nice move for a guy who never played football, babe."

Athos grins and holds his hand out, pulling first Aramis and then Porthos to their feet. He smiles at Aramis and says, “As if somehow never having played football means you've never thrown a tackle.” One side of his mouth curls up into a clever grin and Aramis feels his cheeks flush.

Turning to Porthos, Athos says, “I can’t let you know all my secrets; the romance would go out of this relationship completely."

Athos reaches out and takes one end of Porthos’ scarf in either hand. He winds the fabric around his fists, pulling Porthos’ face closer to him. “Though, really, I don’t think there’s any danger of that, do you?"

Aramis stares at them kissing, watches Porthos’ hands creeping up to cup the back of Athos’ neck and Athos brushing Porthos’ jaw with the backs of his fingers. A heat settles low in his belly and though he knows he shouldn’t be staring, he absolutely cannot look away.

Breaking the kiss, slowly, Porthos turns his eyes to Aramis. They’re still hot and deep and he’s still breathing fast and a little shallow. “C’mon, let’s go get your supplies."

Aramis can only nod.

 

They make it through the produce section quickly, Aramis dispatching the other two out for what he needs while he paws through the peppers and onions. The butcher’s case takes longer. Aramis is hunting for the best ham shank and a roast big enough to feed everyone in the house.

While he’s busy, Athos and Porthos are having what appears to be a normal conversation about the weather and childhood memories. Porthos keeps shifting his stance, occasionally stepping forward to make a point. Athos relaxes as he agrees and takes a step back. It takes Athos nearly five minutes to realize Porthos has been strategically positioning him. He might never have realized it but for the fact that Aramis realizes what Athos has been pushed _into_ and starts laughing.

Athos jerks and looks behind himself at the hanging end-cap display of plastic mistletoe. Aramis dumps two roasts and two ham shanks into the cart and tries desperately not to snicker. He’s standing there, one elbow resting on the handle of the cart and the other hand on his hip, watching as Porthos braces himself on the display and leans in.

“You needn’t have resorted to _herding_ me,” Athos says. "You know I’ll k—mmf!” Porthos has reached up to cup Athos’ cheek, stroking it with his thumb as they kiss. Aramis is still chuckling at Athos’ surprise when the kiss breaks and Porthos turns to him.

“And you. You’d think after all that in the street you’d know that standing on the side and laughing is just looking for trouble.” He takes a step toward the cart, close enough for Aramis to feel the heat of his body, but not so close that Aramis can’t duck to the side. Porthos holds one hand over their heads and waggles a sprig he’s plucked from the display.

When Porthos smiles and Aramis realizes what question is hiding in that smile, all the breath goes out of him.

Faster than he can blink, faster than he can _think_ , Aramis reaches out and grabs the front of Porthos’ jacket and jerks him in, smashing their mouths together. It’s not sexy; it’s barely a kiss, but Aramis feels it in his toes. Just as Porthos’ lips start to relax against his, Aramis hears a little gasp from Athos. He pulls back quickly, pushing Porthos away and putting on a smile that no part of him feels.

“Okay! Can’t make black beans without beans!” The bum wheel of the cart gives a squeaking thump as Aramis makes his escape down the next aisle.

 

None of them even acknowledge the kiss until long after they’re home with the groceries and Aramis has started his prep work. He’s keeping up a running commentary in hopes that neither Athos nor Porthos will want to interrupt him. If they can’t interrupt, they can’t ask any questions and he’ll never have to explain why his face was so flushed as he beat his hasty retreat from Porthos and their kiss.

“So, when my mother makes this she uses sour oranges, but at home I sometimes make it like this and I don’t notice the difference,” he says, squeezing the juice of an orange, a lemon, and a lime together into a bowl. “Never tell my aunt I said that. You should also let the meat marinate in this overnight, but I’m going to have to hope we don’t notice that difference either.

“It’ll be amazing,” Athos says.

“You’ll knock our socks off for sure,” Porthos says, reaching over to squeeze Aramis’ hand. Aramis’ grip tightens down violently around the lime and a seed shoots out. He’s glad it only goes as far as the counter. Given his luck, it could have ended up in someone’s eye.

He’ll put them to work. Yes. That’s good. If they’re busy, they won’t be touching each other. Aramis won’t have to _watch_ them touching each other. That will keep him from getting any more unfortunate feelings about these two amazing men and their amazing relationship. The one they already have. With each other.

“Well, it will be a team effort,” Aramis says. He hands Athos an onion. “Can you cut this for me into pretty small pieces?"

“Minced?” Athos says, one eyebrow raised.

“Yes, sorry.” Aramis ducks his head as he smiles. “In my defense, the only people I am used to cooking with are kids.” He asks Porthos, “Do you have a medium-sized bowl and a big spoon?” Porthos nods and Aramis pushes over the garlic, salt and pepper. “Mash these together into a paste for me?"

“I can do that,” Porthos says. His grin makes Aramis’ belly clench.

When they’re finished, Aramis tells them to throw everything into one bowl while he goes looking for a pot. Far in the back of one cabinet, under a pile of muffin tins, Aramis finds a huge enameled cast iron dutch oven. “Oh! This is _perfect_.” He stands, holding it triumphantly in his hands, and meets Athos’ eyes. Athos has him pinned, a slow, quiet smile starting around his eyes. Aramis looks away as fast as he can. “Now we just wait a few minutes for those flavors to come together.”

Fishing out another pot, Aramis brings water to a boil and adds the beans. While he works he talks, seems unable to stop himself. He feels safe with them. Safe enough to talk about his family and his memories. "When I was younger, before my father passed and before my sister left to get married, we’d have these big family Christmases. We would roast a whole pig. In that case you put the mojo,” he gestures at the bowl on the counter, “inside the pig so it steams into the meat as it cooks.” He laughs and looks out the window. “There is no chance of cooking a pig here, even if we had one, so the roast will do instead.”

He’s opening his mouth to start in on another topic when Athos’ level, calm voice says, “Aramis."

Aramis stares at him, his mouth barely open.

“First, let me reiterate how very glad we are that you’re here. I’m not just being polite; you are a perfect fit for the spirit of this house and your presence is very welcome. I’m afraid, though, that while Lee has done her best to make you feel welcome, Porthos and I have done the opposite and made you uncomfortable."

Aramis knows his eyes are wide and he probably looks like a trapped rabbit. Which makes it even more unbelievable when he says, “Not at all!"

The corner of Athos’ mouth twitches and he raises one eyebrow. “Part of me wants to apologize for Porthos kissing you in the store.” He glances at Porthos. “But I know for a fact that neither of us is sorry.”

Porthos grins at him. “Not even a little."

Athos smiles and turns back to Aramis. “One of the things I learned from being in and out of Lee’s houses since I was a small child, from watching her, is that the heart is capable of more than we can ever imagine. Which is why Porthos and I have always been open to having more than just the two of us in this relationship."

Aramis is staring at him, mouth slack and eyes wide.

“Our first attempt was years ago, we were all young and made a lot of mistakes, but even when it ended with her, we knew we wouldn’t close that door.” He tilts his head and smiles with his entire face, it’s incredible. “I know that you’ve already had a busy day, interpersonally speaking,” and there’s that eyebrow again, that hint of a smile, “but you seem anxious about this, so I wanted to reassure you. Any overture either one of us makes toward you is made sincerely, and with the full knowledge of the other."

Porthos laughs. “I love you, babe. You always make the poly speech sound like we’re sellin' insurance.” He turns to Aramis. “Short version is, if either of us kisses you, you should only not kiss back if you don’t want to, not because you think we’re sneaking around on each other. We’re not asking you to be over your breakup this fast, but we both like you a lot, and we’d kick ourselves if we didn’t let you know."

Aramis’ knuckles are white where he’s gripping the edge of the counter. “Okay."

Athos cocks an eyebrow. “Okay?"

“Okay. If I don’t want to kiss you, I won’t.” Aramis is absolutely certain that wasn’t what he was meant to take away from that conversation, but his head is spinning and his thoughts won’t settle, so this is the best he can do.

Athos’ smile starts so small, just a deepening of the lines around his eyes, but Aramis watches as it curls his mouth, brightens his eyes. It’s breathtaking, literally. Aramis feels his gasp the moment he remembers to take in air again. He answers Athos with his own grin. It takes him a minute to recognize the way he’s feeling. Playful. Aramis can honestly not remember the last time he felt playful like this.

“So... what if I want to kiss you but it’s not kissing back?"

Athos smirks; challenge accepted. “In that case, we would only not kiss back if we didn’t want to."

“So do you want to kiss me back?” Aramis asks, but he’s still smiling.

“Wouldn’t you like to find out?” Athos is playing back and oh, Aramis is in so much trouble.

He tosses his hand towel over his shoulder, wipes his hands on his apron, and reaches out to hook the front of Athos’ apron with his forefinger.

Some first kisses are lost in a haze of alcohol or haste; this one is sober and achingly slow. They pause for a moment, their mouths barely a breath apart. They might have stayed like that for hours, years, but after a second that seems like a lifetime, Aramis huffs a quiet laugh and presses his smiling mouth to Athos’.

Athos seems to sink into the kiss, exhaling a sigh through his nose and wrapping his hands around the edges of Aramis’ apron. Aramis ends it long before he wants to, pulling back then darting in for one last quick press.

“Was kinda hoping that would go on a bit longer,” Porthos says, his smile glowing.

Aramis smiles, shy and bold at once. “I’ll make it up to you by doing it again later?"

“Deal.” Porthos grabs one of the spent orange rinds and squeezes the last bits of juice into his mouth. “Can I have a quick one for now? Just to tide me over?”

When Aramis kisses him, it tastes like sunshine.

Aramis heats the oil to finish the marinade and pours it over the meat in the dutch oven. As he’s sliding the pot into the oven, Porthos and Athos share a quick kiss and Aramis can’t help but smile.

“So…,” and suddenly he’s awkward again. “Based on the weight, that’s got about four hours to cook. And the beans need to soak for a couple of hours before we start them cooking.” He turns off the heat under the beans, and it’s the first time all day there hasn’t been something to do.

“We’ve plenty of work to do putting together toys, but we can’t start that until the littlest ones are in bed,” Athos says.

Porthos takes one of the cutting knives and presses it tip-down on the cutting board. He spins it, absently. “So what you’re saying is that we’ve got a couple of hours to kill, nowhere to be, and nothing pressing to do? Is that right?” He looks up at them from under his brows. “I think this calls for a nap."

Athos tries to frown but there’s a smile tugging at his mouth. “You’re going to lure me back into that bed with your sleeping wiles, aren’t you? Only now you’re suggesting that we ensnare poor Aramis as well? Shameless."

The grin finally takes over Porthos’ entire face and he shrugs one shoulder. “It’s up to him, of course. But ’s a big bed. King sized. Plenty of room. Wouldn’t even have to be that close to us."

Aramis swears he can hear his heart slamming against his ribs. “Well, where’s the fun in that?"

Something hot flashes in Porthos’ look but it’s Athos who speaks. “I’ll lead the way."

 

Standing at the foot of the bed, Aramis feels awkwardness starting to seep back in around them. He’s shifting his weight between his heels and the balls of his feet, unsure of what comes next. Porthos puts a hand on his shoulder, steadying himself as he tugs his shoes off and it’s that simple touch that relaxes Aramis enough to follow suit.

“Shorts and shirts stay on,” Porthos says, and the way he points his finger at Athos tells Aramis that there’s a story here. “Mama’s up and about and don’t need that look she gets if she catches me fooling around under her roof."

Athos smirks. “Not again, anyway."

The look Porthos gives Aramis is pitiful. “She didn’t even say anything. Just stood there with her hands on her hips and stared us down."

“I’m sure you both made it out unscathed."

"It was fifteen years ago and it still gives me nightmares, Aramis,” he says.

Athos cocks one elegant eyebrow. Porthos jabs his finger at him once more. “And don’t you give me that look, you were pissing yourself just the same as I was. You apologized for six straight weeks. Thought I’d never get you naked again."

Once they’re all down to boxers and t-shirts, Athos draws the covers back and looks at them both. “Who’s in the middle, then?"

Aramis shakes his head, “Oh, don’t ask me, I’m just—"

“Aramis is."

“I am?"

Porthos nods. “Sure. We’re natives; we’re used to the cold. You’ll need extra body heat. Plus, I’m always too hot. If you’re in the middle, it’ll even out and we’ll all be fine."

“Excellent use of thermodynamics as a seduction tool, my love."

Porthos grins. “Thought you might like that."

Little details are thrown into sharp focus once they’re all under the covers. The quilt looks homemade. The sheets smell like Athos. There’s a feather poking out of the pillow just out of the corner of his eye. Athos’ upper arms are freckled. Porthos is curled on his side with his hands folded under his hand.

“Just so we know,” Porthos says, “is contact okay? Athos and I know what we’re okay with, but we don’t want to… Look, I know this is ridiculous because you are actually in bed with us and all, I just gotta ask."

Aramis stretches one arm out, tracing the curve of Porthos’ cheek with his index finger. “You’re a good man, Porthos, thank you for asking. I think if we were to stay in this bed for the next two hours and you didn’t try to touch me, I would be very sad."

There’s a rustle of covers and Aramis can feel the long warmth of Athos against his back. A gentle kiss is pressed to the back of Aramis’ shoulder and he smiles. As he’s twisting himself to kiss Athos, his body arches into Porthos. He can feel Porthos’ hand slide along his waist, feel every place where their bodies are touching. They feel so good. They feel _so good._    Aramis tugs Athos’ hand around his body, kissing the knuckles and holding it to his chest as he leans forward to kiss Porthos.

It’s unhurried, almost lazy. Turning between them, Aramis notices the differences in how Porthos and Athos kiss. He starts a mental list because he knows it’ll make him smile to think of it later.

Porthos holds Aramis’ head, holds Athos’ neck. He keeps his hands in one place, not moving except to curl his fingers. He’s almost petting. Athos’ hands are like warm water. He puts them on Aramis’ shoulders and strokes them down his arms, across his back, up his chest under his shirt.

Athos is never still. His body curls into Aramis’, his head tilting for the best angle, his toes are dragging down Aramis’ shins. He frees Aramis from any misguided notions about trying to approach this with a reserved manner and a level head. Porthos presses himself into Aramis and does not move. He is stable, solid, warm. His body rests against Aramis, comforting and safe. _Safe_.

He feels safe with them. They have never looked at him with disappointment in their eyes, never said with only their faces how much he’s let them down. There has only been joy, comfort, care.

They are a soft place to land.

Aramis is clutching at Porthos, fingers digging into his shoulders, arching against him and taking in the smell of his skin. He’s trying to kiss a memory into his own heart.

When Porthos pulls Aramis tighter, it’s almost a surprise to find they’re both hard. He’d been so caught up in their mouths, their hands and hearts. Porthos rumbles a low moan against his tongue.

Aramis drags an experimental roll up Porthos’ body and gasps into his mouth.

“Fuck."

“You feel pretty good yourself,” Porthos says, dragging his nose along the side of Aramis’ in a gesture so impossibly dear it almost breaks Aramis.

There’s a huff that might be a laugh. From over his shoulder, Aramis hears, “May I cut in?"

Porthos lets go his grip on Aramis and props himself on one elbow, leaning over to kiss Athos.

Athos’ hum is happy and light. “Well I was angling for Aramis, but this is lovely as well. Hello."

“Hey,” Porthos says and bumps their noses together.

Porthos kisses Aramis once more before pushing at his shoulders, rolling him to face Athos again. Athos traces Aramis’ eyebrow with his thumb. “Are you warm enough?"

“Yes."

“Are you uncomfortable?"

“No."

“May I kiss you some more?"

“Please."

His hands are on Aramis again, moving again, under his shirt and mapping his back and charting his hips. His mouth is exploring now as well. Aramis can feel Athos’ lips against his neck, the ridge of his collarbone, the hollow of his jaw. He kisses Athos’ cheeks, his neck, his mouth again and again.

Aramis’ hands are buried in Athos’ hair, soft under his fingers. When Athos kisses his neck, Aramis holds him tight, can’t help but press him closer. Athos hums, amused, and maneuvers himself until he is partially on top of Aramis.

With his new leverage, Athos threads his fingers between Aramis’, holding his hands and pressing Aramis into the flannel of the sheets. He slots his leg between Aramis’, leaning in so he can kiss and suck at the skin at the hollow of Aramis’ throat.

Feeling Athos' thigh laying hot and heavy against his groin, he can’t control the hitch in his hips. Aramis can hear a soft whine but it takes a second to recognize that it’s his own voice.

“You’re so warm,” he says, and it sounds so asinine he almost flinches.

“Thermodynamics was the stated goal,” Athos says against his neck, impeccably droll, and Aramis doesn’t feel foolish anymore. He strokes his hands down Athos’ back, experimenting to see how far he feels comfortable going. When his fingers brush against the skin between the hem of Athos’ shirt and the waistband of his shorts, Athos grunts and rocks his hips against Aramis.

“Oh, please.” Aramis’ voice is drum tight.

Porthos leans in until he has his lips against the spot just behind Aramis’ ear. “What do you need?"

“I don’t— I don’t know. More."

“More kissing?” Porthos asks, his lips against Aramis’ cheekbone. “Or more touching?"

“More of this?” Athos asks and rolls his hips again.

Above the rushing in his ears, Aramis can hear himself saying, “Everything. More of— yes. Just more."

When Porthos puts his hand on Athos’ back and presses Athos hips down against him, Aramis’ vision goes white for a heartbeat. It’s been years since he felt the length of another cock against his own, felt how hard it could be and the power of that friction. He’s almost sobbing when he turns his head and takes Porthos’ mouth for more kisses.

“Please don’t let me go,” he whispers, hoping it’s lost in the sound of their breath and the moans as Athos rocks against him again. Porthos pulls back and looks at Aramis. Aramis cuts his eyes to the side. Porthos doesn’t say anything, he only kisses Aramis again and drags his teeth over Aramis’ earlobe.

If Aramis wants to pretend he never said that, Porthos will let him.

“We gotta stop soon,” Porthos says.

Athos groans into the fabric over Aramis’ heart. “Must you be so responsible?"

“Shirts and shorts stay on,” Porthos says. “And I’m not coming in my shorts and walking around sticky for the rest of the day. Besides,” he leans down until he is speaking into Aramis ear again, “the first time I make Aramis come, I want him in my mouth."

“Fuck,” Aramis says, as his eyes roll back.

“Yes,” Athos says. “And I want it to be after we’ve had a chance to see all of him and take our time. After he’s been able to touch us and knows we’re after our own selfish ends as well.” He drags his lips across Aramis’ once. Twice. “But I think a few more minutes wouldn’t be too dangerous."

It would. If they put their minds to it, they could have Aramis climaxing in their arms in thirty seconds, and everyone in the bed knows it. Instead, Aramis grips Athos’ shoulders and pushes him over onto his back. They talked about a second time, they’ll want this again after everyone is asleep. Maybe again tomorrow. With the threat of ‘never again’ gone, Aramis feels he wants to play a bit.

He kisses Athos eyebrows, his temples, his mouth, finally. He sucks at Athos’ lips, feels Athos’ beard under his lips. “You’re beautiful,” he says, and thrills to watch the blush climb Athos’ throat. He turns to Porthos. “And you."

“I’m beautiful, too?"

Aramis climbs off of Athos and braces himself over Porthos. He follows Athos’ lead and leans the full weight of his thigh against Porthos’ cock, feels its heat against his leg and the spot of wetness where it’s leaked through Porthos’ boxers. Porthos’ groan is loud enough that it could bring curious visitors to the door, so Aramis stops it with a kiss. When the noise stops, Aramis kisses him gently, licking at his lips, and laying quick kisses on his smile. Every time Porthos tries to deepen it, Aramis pulls back.

Porthos could stop him, could haul Aramis against him and kiss him until Aramis comes just from that, but he grins, dimples deepening as Aramis plays. He chases Aramis mouth, winning a kiss and sighing as Aramis drops the next kiss against the curve of Porthos throat. He drags his teeth over the tendon where Porthos neck meets his shoulder and Porthos hisses.

“Shit. _Shit_ ,” he says, gripping Aramis hips and pulling him tighter, rolling his cock against the weight of Aramis’ body.

Pulling back again, Aramis reminds him, “We’re being responsible.” Athos laughs, actually laughs for the first time all day.

He hooks an arm around Aramis’ waist and pulls him off of Porthos, snugging Aramis into the curve of his own body.

“If responsibility forbids me from spending the next hour with you shameless beneath me, then let’s try to get some sleep so we’re rested for later.”

“You’re so smart, babe. Always thinking ahead."

“Mmm, yes, I’m a bastion of prudent planning.” He traces his lips over the curve of Aramis neck and Aramis sighs and relaxes into his hold. Porthos stretches along the length of Aramis’ front.   He kisses Aramis, slow and lazy, and fucks his tongue into Aramis’ mouth. Aramis moans and pulls against Athos’ arms with a needy whine.

Porthos pulls back, grinning, and Athos arm flashes out. He buries his hand in Porthos’ hair and brings him closer. Aramis can’t see them kissing, they’re too close for him to focus, but he can hear the sounds of their breathing, Athos' sighs and Porthos’ deep groans. He can hear the little pants of Athos breathing between one kiss and the next, trying to steady his heart, and Porthos’ hiss as Athos tugs at his hair.

“Behave,” Athos says, deep and sharp and with all the seriousness he can muster.

Porthos settles in against the pillow, bringing one leg up to drag his ankle against Aramis leg. He smiles, bright as sun on snow and Aramis wants to lick his dimples.

As they are drifting off, warmed and calmed by the weight of each other, Porthos murmurs, “For now.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, each and every one of you, for your patience and for your feedback, I treasure them both more than I can say.

It takes a second for Aramis to claw his way to consciousness enough to place the beeping sound. It’s not the car alarm in his dreams; it’s the alarm on Athos’ phone. Porthos’ blind slapping knocks it to the floor, and he leans most of the way out of the bed to find it and finally turn it off.

Aramis burrows himself further into Athos’ chest. “The pork needs to come out of the oven."

Porthos snugs up against his back. “Yeah."

“And the beans need to be started."

“Sure do."

“We need to get up, Porthos."

Porthos kisses the back of his neck. “Five minutes."

Aramis sighs, happy. “Five minutes."

Porthos’ phone starts beeping five minutes later and he jerks his head up, searching for the noise.

“What the fuck? Athos, did you set my alarm, too?"

“Yes,” Athos says, into Aramis’ hair. “And wasn’t that smart of me since you had no other way of ensuring we’d only sleep five more minutes?"

“Horrible,” Aramis says, sleepy and muffled by the fabric of Athos’ shirt.

“Mmm,” Athos hums and hooks a finger under Aramis’ chin, tilting his face up for a kiss. “Yes. Horrible. Come on, time for you to show us the rest of your kitchen mastery."

Aramis is trying to remember the last time he felt warmth like this. Physical, yes, it’s toasty under these blankets, and Porthos is a solid heat against his back. But even more, it’s the way that the warmth of this afternoon with them has seeped into his bones and under his skin. For a blink of time, he thinks about going back to work, at home, without this warmth. He shakes his head and pushes it away. He’ll take the rest of this time out of time and savor every second.

Athos and Porthos get up and Aramis stretches, luxuriates in the feel of the sheets against his skin. He watches Porthos tug his jeans up over his thighs and thinks about how those legs felt against his. When Athos pulls his sweater over his head, Aramis remembers how soft his hair felt.

Before they leave the room, Aramis raises up on his toes and looks Porthos directly in the eyes.

“Hello.” Porthos smiles.

“Hello,” Aramis says and kisses him.

Athos ducks back in the door and rolls his eyes at their delay. He kisses them each on the cheek. “Come on, we could spend all day doing that, but Aramis promised there would be food tonight."

Grinning, Aramis feels the tips of his ears pink up.

To the cooking, he thinks. Get to the cooking. Aramis is expecting it to be like the morning, but the afternoon is a lesson in slow torture.

 

Athos stands to his left and Porthos to his right, and they touch him _constantly_. When Aramis rinses the beans and sets them to boil again, he feels Athos’ hand low on his back. He pushes garlic toward Porthos with instructions to mince four cloves; Porthos takes it, trailing his fingers over Aramis’ as he does.

When chopping the onion makes Athos’ eyes water, he turns and buries his face in Aramis’ shoulder. Aramis scrapes chopped green pepper into a stock pot, and Athos does the same with the onion, leaning into Aramis’ body as he does. When Aramis tries to glare at him, Athos kisses him, fast and light, and Aramis can’t even feign anger.

He gives up pretending he doesn’t want to touch as well. While the vegetables are sautéing, he teaches them both about the importance of rinsing rice. “You have to get your hands in there, really move things around,” he says and laces his fingers into Porthos’ where they’re swirling in and out of the rice. Porthos pulls their hands out, keeping their fingers intertwined, and kisses the inside of Aramis’ wrist.

“Now show Athos. He should know how to do it, too.”

Aramis dumps that water and fills the pot again. “You have to—"

“Get my fingers in there. Yes, I heard,” Athos says. He dips into the water and strokes over the back of Aramis hand, over Aramis’ fingers.

“Like this?” Athos asks, his voice so close. Aramis turns, and he's barely an inch away. Aramis strokes his fingers along Athos’ palm.

“Yeah. Just like this,” he says, and leans in to kiss Athos, and then it’s Porthos’ hand low on his back. “Until the water is clear,” he says.

“How long does that take?” Porthos asks, his mouth so close to Aramis’ neck that Aramis can feel the vibrations against his skin.

Aramis sighs into Athos’ kiss. “Who knows?” he murmurs. "Could be hours,”

Athos laughs against his mouth.

“We’ll starve to death between the two of you,” Aramis says.

“Maybe,” Porthos hums, “but we’ll die happy."

Happy. They make him so _happy_. Aramis wonders how long it’s been since he felt like this. He’s always thought of himself as a happy person by nature, but he can’t remember the last time he knew it as he knows it now. How long had he been losing this part of himself, his smile? And how much longer might it have gone on if it hadn’t been for this storm?

It isn’t Robin’s fault, he knows that; she never asked him to change. But he’d so convinced himself that he had to give up who he was to love her that he’d chipped away at it for at least a year. Now he’s here, in this tiny kitchen in a house he stumbled into by accident, and he seems to have found his happiness again. Whether it’s just these men, he doesn’t know. Perhaps it’s the way they make him feel like the bits of his true self he’s shown them are just who he should be. He doesn’t want to find out. Not today. Today is for cooking and smiles and kisses and whatever it is that Porthos is doing to the back of his neck.

They add the garlic to the vegetables and let everything cook while they drain the beans. Aramis gladly hands the task over to Porthos and watches as the muscles in Porthos arms bunch while he’s holding the pot over the sink. It’s hot in the kitchen. It feels hot.

“Is it hot in here?” he asks. “More than normal, I mean, given that we’re cooking."

“No,” Athos deadpans, chewing on a bit of raw green pepper. “That’s just Porthos."

Porthos looks up and flashes a smile. “Want me to take my shirt off?"

Athos rolls his eyes, and Aramis tries to look like he hasn’t nearly swallowed his tongue.

They take turns adding the rest of the ingredients, stirring them and then adding chicken stock and the rice they’d so thoroughly rinsed.

“Twenty minutes,” Aramis says, putting the lid on and setting a timer on his phone. “Maybe thirty, depending on the rice."

“Just enough time to set the table,” Porthos says.

They conscript the children, and the job takes no time at all. There’s a fancy fold for the linens courtesy of Alysha, and Gloria and the older kids volunteer to get drinks for everyone.

When they’re all seated, the rice and beans in a huge bowl in the middle, the roast pork on a plate nest to a bowl full of salad Lee threw together while everyone else was rushing to the table, Lee insists they say grace. She volunteers Porthos, and he speaks in heartfelt words about the spirit of Christmas, of welcoming those in need into the home and of unexpected gifts. His words are beautiful, but Aramis keeps glancing up to see his face. A few times, Porthos meets his gaze and licks his lips before continuing. Aramis listens to Porthos speaking and does his best not to shame every nun he’s ever known by imagining Porthos’ mouth around his dick.

It’s a near thing.

As if he can tell, Athos reaches under the table and squeezes Aramis’ knee just tight enough that it’s a warning and not a flirt.

For Aramis, the entire meal is filled with the kind of warmth and acceptance that he’s used to only feeling with his family. It’s loud and silly, and the little ones try to get away with pushing their salad under their plates, and Lee catches them every time. They tell stories and snip at each other the way all siblings do.

Somehow, they start talking about their favorite parts of the holiday. Gloria loves helping the kids write a note to Santa so they can leave it out with some cookies. The oldest boy says he likes how Lee always gets them a game they can play together. Lee remembers going to church with her mother when she was young.

“So,” Lee says to Aramis, “it’s your turn. What is your favorite part of the holidays?"

Aramis thinks ‘my mother’ and ‘this, here’ so fast he can’t be sure which comes first. “I love cooking with my family, and after dinner, my mother and my sister and I go to Mass."

“Will you go tonight?"

Aramis looks startled. “I hadn’t— I don’t know that I’d even thought about it."

“There’s a church down the hill, it’s Episcopalian, not Catholic, but I don’t think God cares that much.” She smiles at him, and Aramis thinks his mother would love her.

Athos looks up from where he’s been tapping on his phone. “Their Christmas Eve service is at ten, and there’s an update saying they'll still have it in spite of the snow."

Aramis doesn’t even know how to start saying how he’s feeling. “I. I would like that, yes. Could someone write the address down for me?"

“Nah, no need for that,” Porthos says. “Athos and I know where it is. We’ll go with you."

“To _church_?"

“Sure.” Porthos shrugs and Athos smiles.

“It’s possible that Porthos is just looking to get out of doing the dishes,” Athos says, “but I know for a fact that the acoustics there are really quite amazing, and I for one would love to hear if perhaps they might make Porthos’ rendition of Silent Night sound less like a drowning cat."

“You’re horrible, love."

Athos stands and carries his plate into the kitchen; on his way past Porthos’ chair he squeezes the back of Porthos’ neck and drops a kiss into his curls.

Porthos grins at Aramis. “I really can’t sing."

 _I really don’t care_ , Aramis thinks. He doesn’t care about anything right now except for how these two are making him feel. He’s starting to think thoughts, dreams, words, that he knows he shouldn’t. If he were prudent, he’d leave now and find a quiet corner of the airport to spend the next day and a half, someplace where he’s not at risk of leaving his heart behind to beat without him after his flight leaves.

Aramis smiles at Porthos. “I’ll just sing louder, then."

He tries to help with the dishes, but Lee insists that “Those who cook don’t do the washing up,” and shoos him upstairs to shower. The entire family gathers in the living room after the dishes are done. They bicker, and it’s not only the children, over which movie to watch, but eventually settle on Christmas Vacation and Porthos promises to cough loudly over the curse words.

There is room on the sofa next to them, he could even muscle himself in between, but Aramis settles himself on the floor at Athos’ feet and leans back, resting against his legs. He reaches one hand up and feels Porthos take it, his thumb brushing over and over Aramis’ knuckles. Athos reaches his hand down and spends the movie carding his fingers through Aramis’ hair.

When the movie is over, Lee bustles the children off to change for bed and brush their teeth. “And you boys dress warmly. It’s windy out there, and I know it’s a short walk but,” she raises up on her toes and tucks a bit of Porthos’ hair back into place, “I’m your mama, and I worry.”

Athos kisses her cheek. “Hats and scarves _and_ gloves, Mama Lee. I promise."

 

The church is lit almost entirely with candles. The warm light is reflecting back off the dark, polished wood of the ceiling and flickering in the stained glass windows and Aramis feels something essential about the holiday suddenly slot home. The sanctuary should be dark, given how deep the wood of the ceiling is, but the walls are bright, and there is color everywhere from the decorations. It is startlingly intimate for a room that holds hundreds of people.

Porthos takes a program from the usher, and they slide into an empty pew near the middle. Aramis is in the middle. He can feel the warmth of Porthos’ arm where it’s stretched across the back of the pew and resting against Aramis’ shoulders, thumb occasionally stroking the back of his neck. Athos takes his gloves off, unwinds his scarf, and rests them both on the pew next to him, and then he wraps his warm hand around Aramis', twining their fingers together, and doesn’t let go until the first time they have to hold a hymnal.

“It was a beautiful service,” Aramis will tell his mother when he calls the next day. And it is, but not for the reasons he expects. He enjoys the music, but what makes it special is the way he can feel Athos’ voice vibrating in the air around them. The words of the service are lovely but made perfect by the way Porthos’ eyes shine as he listens.

They pause for a moment of silent prayer and the only words Aramis can find are _Please, please, please_. He doesn’t even know what he’s asking for but, _please_.

Just before the end of the service, the ushers come by and hand each person a small taper candle, they’re followed by an altar boy who lights the first candle in each pew. Athos turns and tilts his flame and Aramis lights his candle before turning to Porthos and lighting his. He’s sure there are volumes to be written about the symbolism of this, of them all passing this light from one to another, of these strangers kindling something in him that he can’t help but pass back, but Aramis isn’t thinking about them. He’s standing in the pew, holding his candle and singing Silent Night and feeling himself cry and not caring even a little.

Athos slides his free hand into Aramis’ and Porthos turns to kiss Aramis just above his ear. Aramis waits for the joke about how bad his singing is, but it never comes. They let him have his moment, quietly supporting him on either side and Aramis thanks his God again and again for this week, this night, these touches. This family. These men.

While they’ve been inside, the wind has died down, so the walk home is slower, quieter. They don’t speak for much of it, just passing back and forth their observations of the night.

“You were right about the acoustics,” Aramis says.

“Yes,” Athos says. “Unfortunately, I was also right about Porthos’ singing."

They walk another block in silence, holding hands and taking in the night, the stars, the lights of Christmas trees in front windows.

“I liked the bit with the candles,” Porthos says.

“As did I,” Athos says.

Aramis nods. “It was my favorite part.” And he’s fairly sure that none of them are talking about the hymn.

The house is silent and there is a post-it note stuck to the banister so that they see it as they walk in.

> _I’ve left a few presents for you all to set out - I’m sorry, as always. I love you. I might still love you as much if you make enough noise to wake me, but who can say?_
> 
> _-Mama_

“Aww,” Porthos says. “She loves us.” He kisses Aramis’ cheek.

“That’s for you two,” Aramis says, his smile pressing his skin into the kiss.

“Oh, _Aramis_ ,” Athos says. “It takes a great deal less than you’ve done these two days to find your way into Mama Lee’s love, and a great deal more than you can imagine to find your way back out. She meant that for all of us."

Aramis dares to believe this and answers with a blinding smile.

“I’m gonna go get drinks,” Porthos says. “You two go find out what she’s sorry for this year.”

At Aramis’ confused frown, Athos says, “She likes for the younger children to have unwrapped gifts here when they wake up. It helps them believe Santa came."

From the kitchen, there’s the sound of a bottle opener against glass and Porthos saying, “It also keeps the little kids too busy to wake her up before the sunrise."

Athos’ voice is a conspiratorial whisper. “We don’t talk about how long it took him to figure that part out."

Aramis listens to them spin the history of their family around him and knows that when he tells his mother about this night, he will never be able to say what this feeling is. It’s feeling accepted, of course. And honored and welcome and happy. But none of those alone is somehow enough. There will never be a word for this.

(There is a perfect word for how they make him feel but Aramis has buried it so far back in his mind that he can almost pretend he can’t find it, can almost pretend that he can’t hear the voice saying _loved, loved, loved_.)

“Why is she sorry, then?” he asks.

Athos only makes a little disgruntled hum and beckons for Aramis to follow him to the living room. Porthos has a box in his hand and when he shakes it, there is the sound of possibly _hundreds_ of little, tiny pieces.

“Santa,” Porthos says, “with some assembly required."

Aramis eyes light up. “I had one of those when I was ten! My sister and I would fight over who got to fly it!” He snatches the box for the Millennium Falcon model from Porthos’ hand, and then his face falls. “Oh, fuck,” he says. “I’ve just volunteered to put it together, haven’t I?"

“Cheers!” Porthos says, dimple flashing, and hands him a beer.

“If it makes you feel better, I’ve decided that I’m going to only hand Porthos the French-language instructions and let him tell you how to assemble it. He had two years of it in school, so this should be fun."

There’s a mixture of amusement and horror on Aramis’ face. “That combined with the beer? At some point, they’re going to become completely incomprehensible."

Athos hums in agreement. “Yes, nothing says ‘holiday spirit’ like the law of diminishing returns."

Aramis laughs so loud that Porthos claps a hand over his mouth. “You wake Mama, you get to deal with the _look_.” Grinning behind Porthos’ palm, Aramis thinks about the last time he laughed with that kind of abandon and can’t remember it. This is the thing he will miss the most, he thinks. He will miss the laughing together. And the kisses. And the touching. He blinks and kisses Porthos’ hand.

A decision, then. He’ll stop thinking about every moment in terms of how much it will hurt later. He’ll try to stop shoving that away and focus instead on building so many wonderful memories that he can spend the entire trip home reliving them and use them to keep himself warm the rest of the winter. The rest of… he shakes his head. Just the winter. Surely he’ll have stopped missing this by then.

Porthos shrugs. “Still beats the year you made me put batteries in everything that needed them. Including Daniel’s truck. It took batteries in three different places.”

Athos shrugs, unapologetic. “What are you going to be doing, then?” Porthos asks him.

“Moral support,” Athos says, and smiles. Aramis feels his heart clench as the lines around Athos’ eyes deepen with his smile.

Athos’ dreams of being merely a spectator are dashed when Aramis needs more than one set of hands for steps 3, 7, 18, 26, 27, 28, 59, and 124. Athos helps when he’s needed and spends the rest of the time putting things in stockings and laying out most of the other toys. While no one is watching, he does the lion’s share of the rest of the work, and Aramis, who isn’t foolish enough to think that Athos has done this accidentally, pretends not to notice.

Porthos’ French is abysmal, and the online translation tool he’s using is only slightly more helpful than just going without. More than once Porthos’ suggestion for what the instruction should be makes Aramis collapse laughing. Athos rolls his eyes and tries to look frustrated, and Porthos gets increasingly worse just to goad them both.

From the outside it probably looks as though the laughter is what brings the color to Aramis’ cheeks. And it is, partly, but they’re also doing that thing again. That thing where they won’t stop touching him.

When Athos’ help is needed, he kneels next to Aramis on the carpet and presses the outsides of their thighs together, leaning close and brushing Aramis’ fingers with his own. Every time Porthos goes to point something out he rests his hand on Aramis’ shoulder and brings his mouth next to Aramis’ ear. “Here,” he says, “you want to slide that bit right in here,” and a shudder runs down Aramis’ spine.

He’s soaking it in, rolling in it, reaching for each touch and not bothering to hide his soft, answering smile. Remembering their hands in the kitchen, during the movie, at church, Aramis dares touches of his own. He covers Porthos’ hand with his; he presses a quick kiss to Athos’ cheek. Every touch is a tie between them, a place he’ll remember their fingers later, a place that will never be the same. When he stands to take a bathroom break, Aramis takes Porthos’ hand and tugs him close.

“I think you have a great future ahead of you doing professional translation work,” says Aramis. Porthos is still smiling their lips meet and their grins are so big it’s barely a kiss at first. His fingers curling in Aramis’ hair, Porthos tilts his head and brings them closer together. The kiss is a tease and a promise, and Aramis wants it all.

“I’m better at that kind of French,” Porthos says and doesn’t bother to feign shame when Aramis groans at the joke. Aramis loves that almost as much as the kiss.

It’s after midnight when Aramis puts the little Han and little Chewie in their seats and puts the toy under the tree. He tries to keep the heat out of his voice when he asks, “So. What next?"

Athos’ smile says he sees right through Aramis’ attempt at cool. “Well, all of the toys are finished, so I think our work down there is done."

While Athos is talking, Porthos comes up behind him, snaking his arms around Athos waist and kissing him behind his ear. “When you two are finished being coy, I was thinking we might go fuck."

Athos rolls his eyes but turns to kiss Porthos anyway. Stepping out of Porthos’ arms, Athos takes Aramis by the hand and leads him to the stairs. “Get the lights, Porthos?"

“Sure thing, babe."

Aramis is holding Athos’ hand, being led up the stairs and into their room, thinking that he should feel nervous, but instead he feels safe. Instead of unsure he feels heat running through him. That same sweet, safe warmth has been in his bones all day and that same happy smile on his face, and now, hot under both of those things, is a throbbing need. He needs to _feel_ their hands on him, to see them touching each other, to kiss them.

He twines his fingers into Athos’ and Athos shoots a grin over his shoulder. “Almost there.”

 

Standing at the foot of the bed, waiting for Porthos, Athos asks, “You’re still sure?"

Aramis surges into him, cupping Athos’ cheeks in his palms and tries to pour his need into the press of his mouth. He can hear Athos growl.

Behind them, the door clicks shut and Aramis turns to see Porthos. “Don’t stop on my account,” he says.

“Well if we didn’t stop, when would you get your turn?” Aramis says, bold and fearless.

Porthos grins and catches Aramis around the waist, kissing him, one hand supporting Aramis’ waist as Porthos bends him back with the force of his own need. Its that feeling, the curve of his own body over Porthos’ arm that shows Aramis he is not alone in his need.

“Please,” he says, standing upright. The word is the same as it had been that afternoon, but no longer thready with desperation. Now it is thick, heavy with want and promise. “I have to —"

“Anything,” Porthos says. He’s kissing Aramis’ jaw, his throat, under his chin, he’s sucking at the skin of Aramis’ neck just under his right ear. Aramis can feel Athos behind him, can feel Athos’ fingers threading into his hair, curling and fisting and tugging just gently at his scalp. He sucks in a hiss, throwing his head back and feeling his knees buckle, and there’s the sound of Athos humming, the feel of him kissing the side of Aramis’ neck that Porthos has left open.

Porthos’ hand is still supporting his back and Aramis is suspended between them, Athos heat behind him, and the hard pressure of Porthos at his front. He wants this to go on forever. He wants to stop right now and push them to the bed and show them how happy they’ve been making him. He wants everything. Aramis rolls his hips, rocking into their bodies.

Porthos tears his mouth away from Aramis neck, gulping in air. “Clothes off,” he says. “I need to see all of you.” Aramis starts to unbutton his shirt, but Porthos bats his hands away. “No, I want to,” he says. He jerks his chin toward the bed. “Sit."

When Aramis is seated on the bed, it’s Athos who starts on his shirt. Kneeling behind him, arms over his shoulders, Athos’ long, slim fingers pluck his buttons open and he pulls the shirt back and off. With the shirt out of the way, Athos kisses the back of Aramis’ shoulder. Aramis reaches his hand up and feels Athos’ hair, so soft under his fingers.

Athos sucks at the join of his neck and shoulder and Aramis body jerks like he’s been shocked.

“No?” Athos asks.

“No, no.” Aramis says and realizes he’s confusing the issue, but how is he supposed to think straight with Porthos’ hands working his jeans open and his zipper down? “No, I mean it’s fine. It’s — please _don’t stop_.” He pulls at Athos’ hair and before he can even wonder if that was too demanding, Athos groans and goes back to his neck.

“Up now,” Porthos says, and Aramis lifts his hips as far as he can without dislodging Athos. He wants Athos to stay just where he is. Porthos draws Aramis’ jeans and his briefs down over his hips, pulls them over Aramis’ feet and tosses them to the side. He’s naked now, aching and hard and shameless under their eyes.

“Would you like to know what’s going to happen now?” Athos asks. Porthos puts one hand on each of Aramis’ knees and presses them open. “He’s going to get himself between your knees, you’re going to feel his big hands on your thighs and then he’s going to put that perfect mouth around you."

Aramis has stopped breathing. He can feel sweat trickling down his back and the throb of blood in his veins and he’s never wanted anything like he wants Porthos’ mouth around him.

“And you,” Athos says, “are going to keep quiet enough that you don’t wake anyone else, or I’ll tell him to stop. Yes?” Aramis nods. “That goes for you as well, love,” Athos says and Porthos winks at him.

Porthos knee-walks closer to Aramis, sliding his hands up over Aramis’ thighs and opening him further as he goes. Ducking his head, he nips at the skin on the inside of Aramis’ right thigh and Aramis shouts out the last of his air in a hoarse bark before gasping it back in again.

Athos is at his ear. “Shhhh. Do you want him to stop? No, I didn’t think so."

From under his eyebrows, Porthos gives him a sly grin, and then his face settles into an almost serious expression.

“Oh,” Athos says. “Yes, he’s right. It is time, I suppose, for us to be responsible adults for just a moment."

Aramis’ brain scrambles to catch up. Yes. They are mostly strangers still. Yes, they do need to talk about this.

“Last test?” Porthos asks.

“Three months ago. I give platelets so I go in for tests regularly. All negative. Only Robin since then and she’s negative, too.” He’s trying to keep his focus, to not grab at them.

“Ours was six months ago, also negative, and it’s only been us since.” Porthos kisses his knee. “Thank you.”

Aramis touches his hair, his face, Porthos smiles and kisses his palm. Athos nips at Aramis’ neck again, sucking at the spot behind his ear. “If anything we do, anything we say, is too much or too far, if you want us to stop for any reason, you have only to say. This night should be about enjoying each other, not you feeling obligated to our pleasure in any way. Yes?” When Aramis nods, Athos says, "Porthos, my dear, do carry on."

“Such a formal little shit,” Porthos says and flashes a dimple at them both before ducking his head and running the flat of his tongue up the base of Aramis’ cock.

When Aramis nearly shouts at the pleasure; Athos claps his hand over Aramis’ mouth and leans in to say into his ear. “You’re going to wake everyone; am I going to have to have to keep you quiet? Hmm? Am I going to have to keep my hand over your mouth? Or should I fill it?"

Porthos chooses that moment to put his lips around the head of Aramis’ cock and start sucking on it, gently.

Aramis’ hands fly up, wanting to take Porthos’ head and jerk it into him, fuck himself all the way into Porthos’ throat. He stops himself, holding them in the air, shaking, while he sobs out a moan.

Athos whispers, “I’ll tell him to stop.” Aramis bites into his lips and stifles his voice. “Better. Oh, Aramis. You are beautiful all the time, but like this you are extraordinary.”

He feels his face flush; he wants to hide from this, from Athos’ scrutiny, but at the same time he is preening under the praise. Porthos’ lips are traveling the length of him, tongue drawing up the shaft as he sucks Aramis into his mouth again and again.

“Is he using his tongue while he sucks you?” Athos asks and Aramis nods. “Tell me."

“He’s - he’s just got his whole tongue against me, and it’s just— just a little rougher than his lips and— oh god— he just keeps running it over me."

Athos kisses his temple. “He’s horrible that way.” Moving around to Aramis’ side, Athos kisses his mouth. It’s gentle but Aramis can feel Athos’ breath shuddering with his own need. He reaches his hand out, wanting to stroke Athos, to share his pleasure. Catching his wrist, Athos says, “No. Not that I do not wish your hands on me, I’m only human after all, but I’d rather keep my attention on you two for the moment. Porthos can vouch for this, if you touch me now, I will be incapable of _not_ rutting myself into your fist."

Aramis catches his moan for that image and buries it in Athos’ mouth.

“Oh, Porthos,” Athos says, his eyes moving between Aramis’ face and Porthos’ head where he has ducked lower to mouth softly at Aramis’ heavy balls. He’s lipping at the skin, stroking it with his tongue and pulling them one at a time into his hot, sucking mouth.

“I love to watch how much you love that,” says Athos. "Not content to have that stiff cock, are you? You want all of it."

Aramis’ hips buck up involuntarily and he sobs, trying to get himself back under control. “You can’t see him,” Athos says, "but Aramis’ eyes are incredible right now. He’s staring at you like he wishes to devour you and have you devour him all at once. I can tell how much he’s holding himself in check for you, not wanting to push you with his need. He’s almost shaking, Porthos. Whatever will we do with him?"

Porthos moans and Aramis can feel it on his cock. He gasps at the sensation, then gasps again when Porthos takes his wrists and brings Aramis’ hands to his hair. “What—?” Aramis asks.

“He likes it,” Athos says. “He enjoys knowing that his lover has come undone for him, can not help but thrust into him.” Leaning in, Athos whispers against Aramis’ earlobe. “He wants you to hold his head and fuck his mouth."

At some point, Aramis has closed his eyes, because when he opens them again at this statement, the light startles him. He looks down and sees Porthos’ eyes up, meeting his. Porthos’ lips are shiny and wet, his gaze heavy-lidded and hot.

“You want me— You want me to?”

Porthos nods as best he can, then sighs as he feels Aramis fingers thread into his hair.

“Trust me,” Athos whispers. “Trust us.” Aramis rocks his hips up and watches his cock disappear into Porthos’ mouth in one smooth slide. He tries to keep the volume down, but can’t help hissing out a “Ffffuck” at the sensation.

Aramis keeps thrusting into Porthos’ mouth and thinks this isn’t going to last much longer because Athos won’t shut the fuck up and it’s _killing_ him.

He’s either talking about how Aramis looks, how his face is so open and needy, how flushed his neck is, or he’s talking to Aramis about what he knows Porthos is doing, about how good he knows it feels when Porthos grips at Aramis’ thighs or tightens his lips. Aramis can feel himself tipping at the edge, held back only by the desire to not choke Porthos.

As if he can see into Aramis' mind, Athos says “If you’re holding back to spare him, you should know that he is a shameless slut for this. He loves to know you cannot help yourself.” That’s all Aramis needs, he tugs as gently as he can at Porthos’ hair, bringing his mouth to Aramis’ groin, and feels his cock pressing against Porthos’ throat. He jerks, spills into Porthos with a deep groan and Athos’ whispered praise at his ear.

When he comes back to himself, Aramis looks down to see Porthos, face blissed-out and loose, with Aramis’ pleasure running from the corner of his mouth and into his beard.

Sighing, happy, Porthos pulls off. Aramis can feel himself, still mostly hard, twitching when the cool air of the room hits his wet skin. Porthos kneels up, kissing Aramis and pushing him backward, crawling over him as Aramis comes to rest on his back on the bed.

“I was thinking I should tell you I enjoyed that as much as you did, but now I’m looking at your face and… no."

“No,” Aramis laughs. “I win this one."

Athos passes Porthos a bottle of water and Porthos takes a long drink, but Athos can clearly still taste Aramis a bit because he moans when they kiss.

Aramis’ face is hot just seeing them like this. “Will you— Can I watch you both? Together?"

“Yeah,” Porthos says, nodding. “Hell yeah.” He turns to Athos. “C’mere, babe. Need to get my hands on you.”

The three of them stretch out, naked and warm, on the bed, Porthos and Athos in each other’s arms and Aramis next to them. He’s still throbbing, the sight of them keeping him from cooling down. When Porthos growls a kiss into Athos’ mouth, Aramis realizes he’s not going to get a chance to get soft, not with them in front of him like this.

Athos turns to him, “Do you want—"

“No,” Aramis says. “I just want to see this. I want to see how you are with each other. You’re beautiful.” Athos’ eyes shine back at him and Aramis darts in for a quick kiss before leaving them to each other again.

Porthos kisses him slow, deep and filthy, fucking Athos’ mouth and rolling their bodies together. He sucks kisses into Athos’ neck, nipping at the skin and listening to Athos growl when he does. “Aramis,” Porthos says, not looking up from where he’s mouthing at Athos’ Adam’s apple. “Would you please hand me the lube from the drawer in the nightstand?"

Athos’ fingers curl into Porthos’ shoulders, dimpling the skin beneath them as he clutches Porthos closer. “Now who’s a formal little shit - Ah!” Aramis looks down to where Porthos has cupped the length of Athos’ cock and squeezed.

“You’re gettin’ awfully mouthy for someone who really wants me to use that lube Aramis is about to hand me.” He bites at the side of Athos’ neck again. “You’re lucky I love you when you're lippy."

Aramis swallows with an audible click and scrambles to get the lube. He hands it to Porthos and watches Porthos flash that dimple again.

“Hey babe, gonna need you to spread yourself for me. I want to get you open on my fingers.” Athos buries his face in Porthos’ neck and drops his legs open, a deep flush spreading over his chest and neck.

Porthos runs his fingers down Athos’ cock, over his balls and pressing at the skin behind them, stroking at rubbing at it. Athos grunts and rolls his hips up, mouth open and eyes squeezed shut.

“I love you,” Porthos murmurs into Athos’ ear, never stopping the movement of his hand. “I love you when we’re having dinner, and I love you when we’re hanging out watching movies, and I love you when you’re like this for me.”

Athos kisses his neck, smiling into Porthos’ skin. “I’m gonna tease you like this a little, yeah?” Athos nods.

While Aramis watches, Porthos slides his fingers back and forth, stroking them over Athos’ hole and up again to his balls. He can see the tendon in Porthos’ forearm flex as he presses his fingers just a little harder, not quite pushing into Athos, and he can see Athos’ head fall back as he sighs.

Aramis has rolled most of the way onto his front, his head is propped on his fist and his hips are absently rolling his cock against the bed. They’re so beautiful. Porthos’ big, strong hands against Athos’ pale, freckled skin, Athos’ thinner, wiry body arching and moving against Porthos’ thicker frame. Athos looks so vulnerable, spread like this, but Aramis knows how safe Porthos is making him feel.

Aramis is losing himself just watching them. He’s so grateful to them for giving him this, letting him see them so open.

At some point, Athos makes to wrap one leg around Porthos’ hips, but he drops it again, knowing he’d be blocking Aramis’ view. He looks over at Aramis, eyes glassy and breath shallow. Reaching one hand out, he makes a beckoning motion and Aramis stretches his free hand out to thread their fingers together.

Porthos takes this as a sign to move on and pulls the lube from where it’s been warming under his hip. He spreads some over his fingers and slides them back between Athos’ legs. With a little cry, Athos’ fingers tighten on Aramis’ and his eyes snap back to focus. “Porthos, you fucking sadist,” he says, “if you don’t get your fingers inside me soon, I’m going to take all your presents back."

“Quiet now,” Aramis says in a perfect imitation of Athos’ tone, “or I’ll make him stop.”

There’s a filthy chuckle and then Porthos’ bites his lip, his shoulder dropping slightly, and Athos’ mouth drops open. It’s a cough or a gasp or shout, Aramis isn’t sure, but after that noise, Athos doesn’t breathe for several seconds, his eyes fixed on the ceiling and his feet flexed. Porthos’ arm twists and draws back and Athos sucks all his air back in at once with a strangled cry.

Aramis watches Athos’ face, twisted in pleasure and deeply flushed, and strokes his thumb over Athos’ fingers. He looks down at Porthos’ hand again but his attention is caught by Athos’ cock. It’s a vivid red, weeping and twitching and Aramis wants to lick it more than he wants to breathe. He almost does, stopping only when he imagines how beautiful Athos will be if they make him wait.

Porthos is steadily fucking his fingers in now, sometimes twisting them, sometimes holding them inside and rocking his wrist. When he ducks his head down to take one of Athos’ tight, dark nipples into his mouth, he must also add another finger, because Athos gasps, scrabbling at the sheets with his feet, his heels digging into the bed.

“Wanna come, don’t you?” Porthos asks, kissing and flicking his tongue over Athos’ nipple. “Want me to suck you or stroke you or even breathe on you the right way?” Athos nods frantically. “In fact, if I just keep doing this, you could go anyway, even if nothing touches you.” Athos nods again.

“You know I could. You know if you even said the right words I could. But you’ve chosen to torture me instead.” Athos is almost laughing as he says it.

Aramis grinds himself against the bed, it feels like he’s been hard for days and the fabric of the comforter is deliciously rough against his cock. Porthos speeds up, twisting and curling and sending Athos’ body stiff while his head is thrashing. “Yes, yes, yes,” Athos is chanting, only to grunt in frustration when Porthos pulls his hand free. Athos cock flexes, jerking and hot but not spilling.

“Fuck!” Athos says, far too loud. Porthos kisses his mouth.

“Maybe later."

“Love you,” Athos says, chasing Porthos’ lips with his own. Porthos hums against Athos mouth and slides his fingers back in again. Athos groans, low and long.

“Gonna give you another now,” Porthos says and Athos nods. He hisses between his teeth but curls his hips up to meet Porthos’ hand.

“Love you so much, even when you’re cruel and inhumane,” Athos says and Porthos kisses him again. He bites at the side of Athos’ neck, bites at his collar bone, at his chest. He’s holding his hand against Athos’ hole, fingers as far in as they will go, and just twisting back and forth. Athos turns back to look at Aramis. His legs are straight and locked and he’s keening when Porthos finally starts fucking him again.

“You’re so hot against me, babe. So hot and so tight, make me feel like I must be ruining you, but you’ll still be this tight tomorrow when I want to fuck you with my cock, won’t you?” Porthos says; Athos only sobs in reply. “You’re startin’ to get tighter. It’s too much, isn’t it?” He bites at Athos’ chest again and uses his knee to keep Athos from bucking up into him as he pulls his fingers out again.

There are tears pricking at the corners of Athos’ eyes and he’s staring, fixed and needy, at Aramis as he gasps. He whines, and Aramis knows it’s a sound he’d be embarrassed by any other time, but here and now he’s letting them have all of him.

When Porthos fucks his fingers back in this time, Athos’ breath comes out in a gust that moves the hair laying lank on his forehead. He blinks and focuses on Aramis, sweat at his temples and eyes wet. Aramis bends and kisses their joined fingers, dragging his overheated cock against the bed again.

His name from Porthos’ mouth startles him. “Aramis? Come here, give him your hand."

At the words, Athos gives a tiny cry and jerks his hips, and Porthos has to still his hand until Athos gets some semblance of control back. When he’s still again, Porthos nods and Aramis circles Athos’ cock with just two fingers, not moving them.

“Gr-Great,” Athos sobs. “Two sadists."

Porthos grins and twists his fingers at the same time Aramis wraps the rest of his hand around Athos cock. Athos’ hips buck up, a reflex he could no more control than he could move the moon. When Porthos doesn’t pin him down, Athos starts to curl his hips deliberately. He's rocking himself between them. Up into Aramis’ hand and down on to Porthos’ fingers. Porthos’ name is a litany on his lips.

“C’mon, babe,” Porthos says. “Let Aramis see how pretty you are when you’re wrecked."

Athos makes a noise that might be the start of a curse but is cut off as he buries his upper teeth in his lower lip and slams his eyes shut. One hand is dug into Porthos’ shoulder, the other clenches at Aramis’ forearm as he goes over the edge. Of all the things to notice, Aramis sees that Athos’ big toes have curled over the ones next to them as his body tenses. Athos’ cock begins to pulse in Aramis hand, and he stays completely silent as he comes and comes.

When it slows, and Athos’ body begins to relax, Porthos bends to lick Aramis’ hand clean. Athos hisses every time Porthos’ tongue touches his cock, so Porthos starts to do it on purpose. When Aramis’ hand is clean, Porthos puts his mouth over Athos cock and gets one good suck in before Athos hisses, “Shit, fuck, fuck,” and scrambles backward across the bed, grabbing at a pillow and slamming it over Porthos’ head.

Porthos grins, filthy and unrepentant and Aramis laughs.

“Oh, so it’s the both of you against me now, is it?” Athos says. He looks at Aramis, “I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but I see now I’ve no choice.” Rolling forward onto his knees, Athos leans over and kisses Porthos. “We’ve neglected you, haven’t we? Left your beautiful cock so needy while you were so selfless and generous with us. Would you give me one more thing, Porthos?” Aramis swears he can see Athos’ eyes glitter. “Would you fuck Aramis for me? Would you let me see you come with him inside you?"

Porthos drops his head, eyes closed, and growls. He’s been the master of himself all night, but this has undone him. “Aramis?” he asks, guttural and hot.

“Please,” Aramis says. “Anything, please.” Before he can rock himself into the bed again, Porthos takes him by the hips.

“Turn, I want to— I want to ride you,” Porthos says and Aramis strokes his face with two fingers, heart hammering in his chest. Aramis nods and lays back against the pillows.

What follows is Aramis and Athos staring, slack-jawed, as Porthos coats his fingers with lube again and reaches back to stretch himself. It doesn’t go on long enough, not nearly long enough, but Aramis isn’t going to argue with him when Porthos says he’s ready.

Aramis is stretched, legs straight and arms over his head with his hands clasping his own elbows to keep him from grabbing Porthos by the hips and jerking him down onto his cock. Between Porthos’ mouth earlier and his mindless grinding against the sheets, Aramis is sensitive and needy, flinching at the contact but struggling for more. And Porthos is tight, too tight for this, surely. It’s perfectly painful as Porthos sinks down on him and Aramis feels his fingernails digging into his own arms. When his hips meet Aramis’, Porthos exhales a throaty moan and wraps his hand around his own length, the fat, dark head jutting up over his fist.

He supposes he must have been expecting Porthos to fuck himself along Aramis’ cock because he's surprised when Porthos starts to roll his hips instead. Athos moves behind him, circling Porthos’ chest with his arms and kissing the back of his neck. Porthos’ only noises are sighs of pleasure and the slick, popping slide of his hand over his own cock.

With a hitch of breath, Porthos starts to speed up, and Aramis finds he’s dragging his nails over his forearms, trying to keep from slamming himself up into the impossible tightness of Porthos’ ass. Nothing could have prepared him for this; it’s like no sex he’s ever had. His nerves are on fire; every bit of feeling in his body centered on the over-stimulated nerves of his cock and the drag of Porthos’ hole against him. If it goes on much longer, it’s going to hurt, but for now, it’s exquisite. Precious. Perfect.

Athos is murmuring love into the skin of Porthos’ neck, running his hands over Porthos’ chest to feel the nipples drag against his palms. “You’re so beautiful, both of you. Do you want me to stroke you?” Porthos clenches his eyes shut and shakes his head.

“Perhaps here, then?” Athos says, and Aramis is aware of Porthos gasping and clenching at the same time he feels Athos’ fingers slide along the base of his cock, playing with Porthos where he’s stretched wide. “Quiet, love,” Athos says, sliding two fingers of his other hand into Porthos’ mouth.

With a sigh and the blissed-out droop of his eyelids, Porthos sucks hard at Athos and starts to move his hand along his own shaft. A few strokes, no more than a dozen, and Porthos is groaning around Athos’ fingers and clenching tight around Aramis’ cock. That wicked grip and the feeling of Porthos spilling, hot and wet, across his chest, pushes Aramis to the knife-edge between pain and pleasure and his vision whites out. His hands fly down to clutch at Porthos’ hips, holding him close and fucking up into him as he comes for the second time in as many hours.

When the spasms stop, Aramis strokes his palms down Porthos’ thighs, smiling up at him. Porthos finally opens his eyes again and sees the mess he’s made. His cock gives a couple of final, valiant jerks at the sight and Aramis smiles, dragging his fingers through it and sucking them clean, keening as Porthos clenches around him again one final time.

Porthos falls forward, bracing himself with his hands on either side of Aramis’ head and slides himself up and off. The hissing gasp Aramis lets out is so loud that Porthos claps his hand over Aramis’ mouth.

“We made it this far and you’re gonna to wake the house now?"

Athos bends and kisses Aramis’ temple. “We’d be fools to think Mama Lee didn’t put her earplugs in an hour ago, but let’s not court danger any further and wake the little ones.”

Porthos collapses on the bed next to Aramis, both of them boneless and slick with sweat and worse. Athos kneels on the bed, curving over them to kiss their damp foreheads and brush Aramis’ hair back. “You’re going to start sticking to each other in a minute. Would you like for me to warm up the shower?” Porthos mumbles something into the comforter and flops his left hand where it’s resting on the pillow beside him. “Aramis?” Athos asks.

“Would I have to stand?"

“Eventually, yes,” Athos says and huffs out half a laugh. “Well, we can’t all be indolent layabouts.” His fingers trail over Porthos’ calf as he heads for the bathroom, grabbing a bathrobe on his way out the door.

When the door closes behind Athos, Porthos lifts his head, pressing kisses to Aramis’ shoulder, smiling against his skin. “So good,” he says. Aramis just hums in reply, running his fingers over Porthos’ ribs. They could talk; they could revisit everything they’ve done and how it all felt, but they don’t, not yet. They rest beside one another and enjoy the quiet, broken only by the sound of their own breaths.

Athos returns before long, two warm washcloths in one hand and a hand-towel in the other. Aramis reaches out for one, but Athos shakes his head. “Shhh,” he says. “Let me."

He strokes the washcloth down Aramis’ chest and belly, wiping him clean and then drying the damp skin. He does the same for Porthos, first his chest and then rolling him onto his belly. Catching him behind the knee and pushing that leg up and to the side, Athos grins and pushes the tips of his fingers in, toying with the mess Aramis left behind and watching Porthos flex around him.

Porthos groans and rubs his forehead against Aramis’ shoulder. “Evil, babe."

Athos takes mercy on him, gently cleaning his hole, his thighs, his balls and soft, perfect cock. When he’s finished, he palms Porthos’ ass and spreads it just a bit, placing one soft kiss right against the center of him and smiling when Porthos jerks with a quiet, surprised yelp.

When they’re all together on the bed again, Athos snug against Porthos’ back, Porthos still stretched along Aramis’ side, they talk of simple, nothing things. How the kids will be in the morning, what they’ll do after presents are opened, the minutiae that make up an ordinary day. Even Christmas.

“Since I first came to live with her that’s how she’s done Christmas. One present at a time, everyone being happy for each other. She said it was to help teach us gratitude and patience,” Porthos says.

“Let me guess, it backfired?” asks Aramis.

Athos smiles against Porthos’ neck. “Horribly. Sometime around Thanksgiving, they begin to threaten each other with horrible punishments if they take too long to open a gift.

Laughing, Aramis reaches up to rub at his eyes, resting his arm against his forehead and sighing, happily. He’s got his eyes closed, so he’s startled to feel Porthos take his wrist. “What’s this?"

Aramis opens his eyes and sees a row of angry scratches. “Got carried away,” he says, and he’s smiling. “I was trying so hard not to grab at you."

“So you grabbed at yourself instead?” Porthos traces a finger over one scratch where Aramis had broken the skin. “This one’s bleeding."

“Porthos, I’ve had worse paper cuts; I can’t even feel it. Please don’t worry about it.”

One dimple flashing, Porthos says, “What if I want to worry about it?” Aramis frowns at him, confused, while Porthos climbs off the bed and starts digging through the clothes on the floor. He slings Athos shirt around his hips like a sarong and bends to kiss them both. “Be right back."

Aramis opens his mouth to speak, but Athos is faster. “You don’t want to trouble him, I know. But before you twist yourself in knots about letting him mother hen all over you, think about how happy it would make you to do the same for him."

There’s no argument for that, so Aramis simply closes his mouth and reaches his hand out to touch Athos. “Thank you,” he says. For this night, he means, for this weekend, for coming to church with him, for taking him into their hearts. For all of it. He hopes that Athos can hear that.

Athos does. “The pleasure was entirely ours.” One corner of his mouth twitches. “Well, perhaps not _entirely_."

Porthos returns with a tube of antibiotic ointment and a Band-Aid with a picture of Chewbacca on it. “The kids are big on Star Wars right now,” he says with a sheepish shrug. The scratch doesn’t warrant anything like this level of care, but Aramis doesn’t stop him. Porthos dabs the ointment on it and lays the bandage across the scratch. He wraps his hand around it, firm enough to get the adhesive to stick and Aramis has to stifle a sigh.

It feels _so good_  to let them do this, to let Athos clean him and Porthos bandage him. To let them care for him. He blinks fast, turning his face away for the few seconds it takes to get himself under control again.

When he’s finished, Porthos crawls in between them again and pulls Aramis close. “It was okay otherwise, though?” he asks. Aramis almost asks if he’s joking, surely he must be joking, but there’s a vulnerability in his voice.

“I’ve never had anything like that,” Aramis says, and not a word of it is a lie. “When you kissed my neck? That’s always felt good, but when you did it, I felt like my toenails were about to fly off. And Athos’ fingers around me while you fucked me? That was… perfect. It was all perfect."

“I loved watching you,” Porthos says. “I loved hearing you, feeling you. Your whole body reacts, not just that pretty face. I didn’t even have to be looking at you to know you liked it.” They share a kiss, letting Athos see them, and Porthos feels Aramis arching against him, even as tired and drained as they both are. “Love how you respond."

Athos smiles. “It wasn’t just you, either, Aramis. I don’t often get to focus on Porthos, to watch him like that. He’s usually distracting me. I very much enjoyed watching you with each other, watching you lose yourselves."

“Like you weren’t losing it, too,” Porthos says. “God, babe, you’re so gorgeous when you fall apart like that. Like there’s nothing left but the parts of you I’m making feel good.” He turns and kisses Athos, lazy and slow and slick. “I love that Aramis got to see that, got to see how perfect you are.” Porthos kisses Athos on the tip of his nose. “With your very own pretty face.”

Athos looks like he wants to say something smart, but instead, he looks at Porthos with soft, warm eyes, creased at the corners. “I love you."

“I love you,” Porthos says.

“Have you always had this? With each other?"

Athos has propped himself up on his elbows, and when Aramis asks this question he drops his head to Porthos’ shoulder and groans.

Porthos laughs. “Not quite. Not from the start, anyway."

“No, for two misguided years we thought we were just very close friends,” Athos says.

“What happened?”

“I went away to this camp for a few weeks in the summer. I was…,” he tilts his head and turns to Athos. “Thirteen? Fourteen?” Athos nods. “Yeah, we were both fourteen by then. So I went away, and we were out of touch for a bit, and then he came with Mama to pick me up from the bus when we got back."

“Lee’s version of this story includes an entirely spurious account of my moping about while he was gone. She insists she took me along with her out of pity."

Porthos chuckles and reaches out to squeeze Athos’ hand. “Either way, he was there when I got off the bus, and I took one look at him and felt like I’d been hit in the face with a plank. I was just standing there thinking, ‘Fuck; he’s cute. Has he always been this cute?’"

Aramis’ face hurts from smiling. “And you?” he asks Athos.

“It was as if my friend had left for camp and a stranger had come back. He was all shoulders and taller than me, and it was as though I’d never seen him before. In hindsight, he must have been growing like that all year, but his absence drove it all home.” Athos is quiet for a few seconds. “He was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.” He meets Porthos' eyes. “He still is."

Porthos growls and catches Athos by the back of the neck, pulling him down into a fierce, possessive kiss.

“Don’t,” Aramis says, a breath away from piteous begging. “Don’t start. If my cock tries to get hard again, it’s going to fall off. Please.”

They laugh and then there are more kisses, Athos carding his hand through Porthos’ hair and Porthos running his fingers up and down Aramis’ back. They’re drunk on the closeness, sleepy and warm and touching everywhere they can, soaking it all in. Porthos is sprawled across the middle of the bed, Athos’ legs tangled in his and one arm slung over Aramis.

“Want me to get us something to drink?” Porthos asks.

“Not really,” Athos says and tightens his arm around Porthos’ waist.

“Want me to stay right here and we can sleep all wrapped up together like this until the kids wake up?"

“Yes,” Aramis says. “I want exactly that."


	5. Chapter 5

 “Think it’s Antony?"

“Mmphf, no, smart money’s on Alysha."

“How dare you blacken Alysha’s good name. With that heavy footfall, it can only be Matias."

Aramis lifts his head from the pillow just long enough to squint at his phone and glare at Athos. “It’s barely five, how are you awake enough for that sentence?"

Half of Athos’ smile is hidden against Porthos’ shoulder. “Just another part of my irresistible charm.” He rolls his face to smile at Aramis. “Also, we didn’t sleep long enough for my body to think it’s morning."

Whoever is trying to sneak out of bed with all the stealth of a gorilla finally makes it to the bottom of the stairs.

“Will everyone be getting up now?” Aramis asks.

Porthos tugs him closer. “Nah, plenty of time before the rest of the house is moving,” he says with his face buried in Aramis’ hair.

Each kiss is a stolen luxury, secreted away from the rest of the world and pulled out later to cherish and adore. Alone in this room, in the pre-dawn hours of Christmas morning, they fill a treasure chest together.

Aramis is self-conscious about morning breath and looking unkempt; he says so to Athos.  “Debauched,” Athos says. “You look thoroughly debauched. It's a good look for you. And don’t worry about the other, either; it’s a small price to pay for this pleasure." He kisses Aramis again.  Just to prove his point.

 

They fall asleep between kisses, they must, because the next thing Aramis knows there’s a clattering noise from the direction of the kitchen and the smell of coffee. Porthos has starfished across most of the bed; Athos and Aramis are curled into the spaces around him, over him, against him.

“Coffee,” Porthos says. And then, “Breakfast."

“Both of those would require getting out of this bed,” Athos says. In the quiet after his words his stomach grumbles. Loudly. Porthos buries his face in Aramis’ neck and snickers.

Dressing takes longer than it should, too many hands trying to ‘help’ and too many kisses to share. Aramis says, “I’ll meet you guys downstairs,” and leaves as Athos is swatting Porthos’ hands away and protesting that he doesn’t need assistance tucking his shirt in.

Standing in the doorway of the living room, watching the kids play, is just the girl he needs to see.  “Gloria?"

“Yeah?"

“Do you think the little kids would mind if I used a sheet of construction paper and some of their crayons for a minute?"

She smiles and shows him the area in the corner of the living room where they keep the arts and crafts supplies. He goes unnoticed in the chaos of the morning, even by Athos and Porthos as they come downstairs and get their coffee.  It takes less than five minutes, he slips the makeshift envelope under the tree and slips himself into the kitchen.

“Everything okay?” Athos asks and Aramis nods.

He takes the proffered mug of coffee and somehow what comes out of his mouth is, “Thank you,” instead of, “I love you.” It’s nothing short of a miracle.

They were right, opening gifts one at a time takes forever. Aramis looks at Lee and can almost see it in the lines of her face, how once, probably not long ago, this ritual of one present at a time would distract the children from how few presents there were, would draw out the excitement of the day even when it was lean and spare. Today there are mounds of gifts, and the longer it goes on, the bigger Lee’s smile, the more relaxed her face.

Kids are scattered across the floor like shrapnel, some kneeling close to the tree, some sitting in the center of nests of wrapping paper, a couple of the newer ones are sitting a bit further away, taking in the action. Porthos, Athos, and Aramis have taken over the couch. Aramis the center - of the seating, of their attention, he’s not used to this but he’s not shying away. He drops his head onto Porthos’ shoulder and feels Athos’ hand as a safe weight against the back of his neck

There are books and toys, Legos and puzzles, a cookbook for Alysha’s budding culinary interests and a box of 152 crayons for Matias. Aramis covets the crayons, and he isn’t shy about admitting it. Matias promises to share later and Aramis swallows around the enormous lump in his throat.

“This one is for Porthos,” Gloria says. She’s Santa for the day, all bright eyes and flushed cheeks as she hands Porthos the sizable box.

“Aww, it’s from Athos. I thought we were doing presents at home, babe.” Athos shrugs and Porthos grins at him before tearing into the box. And the next box. And the next. “How the f— heck many boxes are there?”

“The mind fairly boggles,” Athos says.

Three. There are three more boxes. Taped to the bottom of the last one is a legal-sized envelope. Porthos cocks an eyebrow at Athos.

“I have known you for more than half my life and I have never known you to _not_ try and open your presents early. I take countermeasures."

Porthos has the good grace to look at least a little sheepish when Lee purses her lips and mutters, “Mm-hmm.”

The room is silent except for the slide of paper against paper as Porthos pulls the contents out. He scans the page and looks up at Athos. He’s looking back at Porthos with an expression too earnest to be a smile. Porthos reads the page again.

“Athos. We— I can’t—"

Athos flicks his eyes to Lee, who is staring at them both.  “What is it, baby?"

“It’s a… vacation. It’s a trip. Together."

The littler kids are blasé, but the older ones and the adults are deeply impressed.

“Where are you going, my boys?” Lee asks and Porthos turns to her with eyes wide and wet.

His voice rasps over the word. “Jamaica."

“Well try to get some of the culture in before you spend all night drinking on the beach.” She’s saving him. She’s making sure he doesn’t have to explain his reaction to anyone else, he can just move on with the lightheartedness she’s given him.

“I promise, Mama.”  He turns back to Athos. “Babe I ca—“  Lee clears her throat.  “Thanks."

It’s more breath than voice but Athos says, “You’re welcome,” and kisses him.

The next present is for Antony. The noise and ceremony of handing over the gift give Porthos the opportunity to scrub at the corners of his eyes. “’S where my mother was from,” he says to Aramis. “I can remember bits of what she said about it, I’ve always wanted to go see it, to maybe have a little more of her.” He turns an adoring face back to Athos. “I can’t believe you did this."

“You’ve been talking about it for years, dreaming about it. You make my dreams come true every day, returning the favor is the least I can do.” Porthos kisses him. Kisses him again.

“You’re better than I deserve."

“Not true. Tell him, Aramis."

Aramis swallows. “You both deserve all the best things, and that includes each other.” Porthos drops his head to Athos’ shoulder and Athos kisses him on the temple, so soft.

“I love you,” Athos says. Porthos nods.

Somewhere in the stream of gifts, Gloria hands Aramis’ envelope to Lee.  She runs her fingers over the drawings on the front, the careful way he’d written her name. “You’re a good boy, Aramis."

He tries not to blush. She takes out the hand-made card, the one he’d made so quickly that morning, trying to make it beautiful even though he knows it’s the words that matter.  Lee touches her fingers to her lips as she reads, then to her heart as she looks back up at him.

“Oh, Aramis."

“It’s not much but—"

“Come here,” she says. Her arms are ropey-strong and tight around him and he buries his nose in the collar of her sweater and hugs her back. Safe. “You’re a good boy,” she whispers into the hair just above his ear. “Such a good boy."

“What is it, Mama?” Alysha asks.

Lee gives her a watery smile. “He gave some money in my name to The Teen Project, which you don’t have to know about for a few years yet, but it’s a very nice group who will do good things with the donation.” She reaches over to squeeze Alysha’s knee. “They help foster kids."

“Like us?” Alysha asks.

“Like you will be; like Porthos was,” Lee says and gives Aramis one last squeeze before letting him go.

He hasn’t finished sitting when Porthos stands. “Give me a hand in the kitchen?” he asks Aramis. “I think this calls for cocoa or something."

He’s still nodding when Porthos grabs his hand and pulls him through the doorway, Athos following.

“You did that?” Porthos asks. “You —“ he looks at Athos, “they’re the only group I know of who does nothing but work with kids aging out of the foster system who need help. Kids who are about to have nothing, no resources, no home, no support, kids who are worried they’re going to have to put their stuff in a trash bag on their 18th birthday, they help those kids.” He turns back to Aramis and asks again, “You did that?"

“They’re not local,” Aramis starts to explain.

“Don’t care,” Porthos says. “Somewhere a kid who isn’t lucky enough to have Mama Lee on his side is going to get some help.”  Cupping his face, Porthos kisses Aramis, closed-mouthed but sweet and sincere.

Athos presses a kiss to the hinge of Aramis’ jaw.

“This is the first thing I’m telling your mom about when I meet her,” Porthos says. “Just so you know. No escaping now."

Aramis freezes.

“You want to keep in touch?”

“Well,” Porthos says, scrubbing his jaw with his hand. “I mean. I don’t really care one way or the other, but Athos is in love with you.”  He shrugs. “Wouldn’t be fair of me to keep him away."

There’s a clanging as the elbow Athos is resting on slips out from under him and sends a saucer skidding across the counter.

“What?” he splutters, indignant.

“You gonna argue?” Porthos asks.

“On the contrary, I’m objecting to the idea that I’m alone in this. And I’m frankly amazed that you’ve endangered Aramis by letting him stand so close to you as you’re telling that big a lie. Surely when lighting strikes you, he’ll be injured as well.”  He’s recovered enough composure to lift one imperious eyebrow.

Porthos turns to look at Aramis. He shrugs, his smile shy. “Yeah, alright, he’s got me there.”

Aramis can’t feel his knees. He sags a little and feels Porthos’ arms around his waist, his big hand splayed across Aramis’ back. It was like this last night, too; he feels the same safe, perfect support.  Now he can feel the love that must always have been flowing under it.  He drops his head to Porthos’ chest.

“Love you,” Porthos says, dropping a kiss on the crown of Aramis’ head.

“Both of us,” Athos says. He’s closer to them now, Aramis wants him even closer still.

“You too,” Aramis says to the buttons on Porthos' shirt. He turns to look at Athos. “I love you both, too."

They stand there, together, in the kitchen until Lee sends Matias in to get them.

 

Not long after, with all the presents open and the children all ensconced with their favorites, Lee asks the three of them for help starting the roast they’re having for lunch.

“Truth be told, Aramis, I’d be happy to serve leftovers from last night. But if I did that I wouldn’t be able to keep them all to myself. Hand me that rosemary."

There are movies while the meat is cooking. The three of them sit tangled on the couch, a riot of limbs and sighs and kisses while on the screen Ralphie dons his pink bunny outfit and the neighbors’ dogs eat the turkey.

The meal is perfect.  The food, of course, but even more the company. Porthos says grace again; Athos and Aramis twine their fingers together under the table while he talks about feeling fortunate and loved. The three of them do the dishes together and Lee lets the kids take their dessert into the living room ‘just this one time, it’s a special occasion.'

While he’s putting the last of the plates in the cupboard, Aramis catches sight of the clock on the microwave. “I should really call my mom when we’re done."

Athos takes the dishtowel from Aramis’ shoulder and the plate from his hand. “Go do it now, we’re perfectly capable of finishing this.”  He kisses Aramis, takes a second to run his fingers through the hair at the nape of Aramis’ neck. "We’ll meet you in the living room."

 

The idea to take make the call somewhere private is a good one, Aramis doesn’t want to spend the entire call sneaking glimpses of Athos and Porthos. His mother can always tell when he’s not paying attention. Now that he’s standing in the bedroom, though, Aramis realizes this was not the best alternative. He sees the bed, made so neatly and looking so sedate, and he pictures the three of them the night before, can see Athos’ sweat-soaked shoulders pressing back into those sheets and Porthos’ face buried in that pillow. Aramis is about to call his mother from a minefield.

He moves down the hall and makes the call from the bathroom; if someone needs it, he’ll move.

“Aramis?"

“Hi, Mama. Merry Christmas."

“Hello, my baby. Merry Christmas to you.” In the pause, Aramis imagines her taking her phone into the other room, away from Ilyana and the kids, where they can speak without being overheard. She’s worried about him.

“Has it been a good day there?  Are you staying warm and safe?"

He doesn’t know where to start.  “It’s been a great day, Mama. There’s been a fire going all day and everyone is safe in the house. The kids are watching movies with Lee right now; Athos and Porthos are doing the dishes."

“That does sound nice.” She pauses. "Say their names again, angel."

Alone, sitting on the edge of the bathtub, Aramis feels the blush creep up his neck. “Athos and Porthos."

The silence stretches out long enough for Aramis to check his phone to make sure the call is still connected.  “Mama?"

“I’m sorry, I’m just— I’m trying to remember the last time I could hear your smile when you spoke.”  Her voice catches and Aramis can hear her take a deep breath. “I think it has been a long time."

“I love you, Mama."

“I love you, my Aramis. This is my very best present this year."

“Me smiling?"

“No. You so happy I can _hear_  you smile.” He’d argue that’s not possible, but he can hear _her_ smile when she says this.

“It’s been a good day,” he says and finds that it needs no embellishment.

“I feel like it’s been years since we’ve talked,” she says and Aramis knows she’s not talking about since the day before. “Tell me everything."

He does. Cooking, church, putting the toys together, how they wouldn’t stop touching him. He tells her about the perfect kisses, about how good they are to him.  “It’s probably just the fact that it’s new. Every new relationship seems perfect. But I’ll take it,” he says. “I’ll take it."

“So you’ll see them again?”

“They say they want to; I know I want to. Maybe I’ll start asking for airplane tickets for presents."

“Or maybe you get a job that isn’t in Santa Fe. You will think of something, my baby. All of you together will think of something. I know this."

“I love you."

“I love you, too. Did they like the beans? And the roast?"

Aramis grins. “Everyone loved them, except a couple of the little kids, but even they ate a bite for Lee. She says she’s saving the leftovers for herself."

They talk for a few more minutes, mostly about little things. Ilyana’s kids are behaving like angels, everyone is worried. Mass was lovely. She’ll say a prayer for him and his new love.  Aramis send his love to Ilyana and the little ones.

“Your presents from us will be waiting for you when you get home. I’m sure you’ll be getting your present from your boys later.” She sounds so sly, so pleased with herself.

“Mama!"

“You didn’t invent this, Aramis!  When I was--"

“Mama, I need at least three drinks before I let you finish that sentence."

She laughs, then sobers a little. “Thank Lee for me? For taking such good care of my boy?"

His throat feels so tight.  “I will, Mama. I promise."

“Now get back to them. And call me in the morning before your flight leaves, you know I worry while you’re in the air."

“Merry Christmas, Mama. I love you."

“I love you too, baby."

He stays there, perched on the edge of the tub, and spends a few minutes missing his mother. It’s not the same pinched longing as the day before; tonight it’s a soft wistfulness. He misses her hugs.

 

Back in the kitchen, Athos’ eyebrow silently asks how he is. Aramis answers back with a smile and a nod. He’s great.

“Coffee?” Porthos asks.

“Yeah, that would be great."

Porthos passes him a mug. “Your mom okay?"

“She is. She— We had a good talk. She’s really glad I’m here. I didn’t know how worried she was.”  He fiddles with the sugar spoon, adds way too much to his mug. “I guess— I guess I’ve just been growing less happy by such small increments, I didn’t even notice it happening. Mama did, though. She says she feels like she hasn’t talked to me in years. I— I didn’t realize."

Athos is standing close but not touching him, he’s giving Aramis space. “How miserable you’d become?"

Aramis gives him a smile that’s small but infinitely brave. “Not until the moment I walked through that door."

“We didn’t know anything was missing,” Porthos says. “We might never have known we could have this. I’m glad you stayed. We’re keeping you."

Aramis swallows some coffee, but it’s their presence that warms him. “I could have gotten a flight to Richmond and driven. If I really wanted. It took a day like today to show me how much I didn’t want to."

“I will always be grateful you didn't,” Athos says, cupping the back of Aramis’ neck and kissing his cheek. “That you let us love you."

Maybe what he told his mother was right, that this is just the first, perfect bloom of a new relationship and a few weeks in the real world will be a splash of cold reality to the face, but he can’t bring himself to be cynical. All he wants is to try.

 

They spend the evening picking at leftovers, reading on the couch, watching movies, and touching each other.  Aramis pulls a book from one of the shelves in the living room and takes over one end of the sofa, tangling his legs together with Athos’. Porthos brings down the paperback that had been on his nightstand and sits on the floor in front of them, humming happily when he feels Aramis’ fingers tracing along the back of his neck. Athos flicks through pages on his e-reader and smiles at them.

It’s nearly nine before someone finally brings up the subject they’ve all been avoiding.

“What time does your flight leave,” Porthos asks.

“Just after eight. I checked in on my phone this morning, so I don’t need to be at the airport until seven."

“We’ll take you,” Athos says.

Aramis feels the protests piling on top of each other to be the first one voiced. He doesn’t want them to have to get up so early. He’s already taken advantage of their hospitality. Some of the roads still aren’t safe. It’s too much. It’s too much and Aramis will always think he’s not enough.

“You’re not about to open your mouth and say something ridiculous, are you?” Athos asks.

“Thank you, I would love for you to take me to the airport."

“Good. Thank you for letting us take care of you."

Aramis nearly melts at the sentiment.

“Well,” Porthos says, “if you’ve gotta be there at seven, then we need to leave just before six.”  He almost can’t help his smile. “We should probably get to bed soon. That’s awfully early to be getting up."

At first, Athos rolls his eyes but when he sees the heat in Porthos’ expression, he just nods.

“I love you both. So much,” Aramis says and Porthos turns, kneels up and kisses him.

“We love you."

When the last of the children are in bed, when it’s only them and Lee, Porthos says, “Mama, we’re going to turn in. Aramis has to be at the airport early and we want to get some rest."

Lee looks up from her magazine with a look like a laser. “You boys must think you invented sneakin’ around."

Aramis can’t help his laugh. “My mother said something not too different."

“She’s a smart woman."

“She is.”  Aramis goes to stand beside her, taking her hand in his and squeezing it. "She also said to thank you, for taking care of me.”  Lee pats his hand, tugs him down to press a kiss into his hair.

“I’d want someone to do the same for my boys. Maybe one day she will."

Aramis smiles at her and nods.  He remembers how good it felt to hear her praise and he is so grateful that Porthos and Athos grew up with a love like this in their lives.

Athos closes the cover on his reader and gets to his feet. “Do you need anything?” he asks Lee. She shakes her head and turns her cheek for a kiss.  “Merry Christmas, Mama Lee,” he whispers to her before standing and waving Aramis up the stairs.  Porthos hangs back, taking the time for a few minutes at the end of this busy day to sit quietly with the woman who has been his mother for most of his life.

 

 

Standing in the bedroom, Aramis isn’t sure where to start.  Athos, standing in front of him, brushes Aramis’ hair back from his face, traces his neck, smiles at him. “There are endless things I could say right now, almost all of them sappy and maudlin."

“Last night I felt like I was storing it all up."

“I think we all did."

“I just wanted everything I could have of you, to have something of both of you."

Porthos is smirking at them from the doorway. “You want to have both of us?  I always miss the good conversations."

Aramis looks caught-out. “I didn’t mean— I mean yes, of course, I do but not— I just meant I wanted to be able to remember you both."

Porthos crosses the room to stand behind Athos. “Oh, don’t worry,” he drapes his arms over Athos’ shoulders and kisses him just behind the ear, “if you had both of us you’d remember it."

Aramis scoffs and rolls his eyes. “You’re terrible."

“He is,” Athos turns in Porthos arms and kisses him.  Turning back to Aramis he says, “It’s an idea, though. If you _do_ want it, I know it’s something we would both love. Not at the same time, of course. We wouldn’t be able to keep the noise down, for one thing.” He grins, giving Aramis an out.

Aramis doesn’t want an out. He would be able to feel them. All day. He’d be able to walk through the airport feeling how they’d stretched him. Every time he shifted in his seat for the entire four flight he’d feel how they’d loved him. How they love him.

“Please. _Please_ ,” he says and this time, he knows what he’s asking for.

Athos darts forward and kisses him, fingers moving over his buttons. “You’re going to be so perfect, letting us. Porthos first, I think.”  He tugs Aramis’ shirt loose from his jeans. “I want to watch your face and see what you love best, I want to learn you."

Crossing behind him, Porthos slides Aramis’ shirt down and off his arms, kisses Aramis neck and buries his face in Aramis’ hair.  “You smell good.”  Aramis laughs.  “It’s true. It’s one of the things I know I’m going to miss until I see you again. You smell amazing."

“I can send you a list of products,” Aramis says.

“Not the same.”  Porthos kisses the nape of his neck. “Go ahead and get on the bed, we’ll be right there."

Aramis stretches out on his belly, feeling the cool fabric of the sheets against his skin and pillowing his head on his arms.  When they’re undressed, Athos and Porthos join him.  Arching over him and bending to speak into his year, Porthos says, “Can I?"

“Anything,” Aramis says, because there is nothing he wouldn’t let Porthos do to him right now.

He feels like he loses hours feeling Porthos’ fingers opening him. What a picture he must make, arching his back and pressing his ass up into Porthos’ fingers, gripping at the pillow and sobbing with how good it feels. He’d forgotten how good this felt.  Porthos pulls his fingers all the way out and back in again, over and over, and Aramis knows he’s doing it just for the obscene noise it makes. It’s filthy. It’s perfect.

Athos is stroking his hair, kissing his temple. “Are you ready?” he asks and it’s the first words any of them have spoken in what feels like hours.

He looks up at Athos and nods. “Yes. I’m ready.”

Porthos braces himself over Aramis, stretching over the length of his body and kissing his cheek. “Tell me if you need me to stop.”  Another kiss. “I love you so much."

Aramis opens his eyes and sees that Porthos’ hand is right next to his head.  He takes it, twisting their fingers together, and spreads his knees another inch, arching his back again.  He’s displaying himself, presenting himself and his need to them, and he knows it, can’t help himself.  “Now, please, need you _now_!"

“Oh, that’s a lovely thing to hear,” Athos says. “And you’re so beautiful like this.  Can you feel Porthos pushing into you?”  Aramis nods.  “Can you feel that big, blunt head against you?”  Aramis nods again. “For me, he presses just barely, over and over, a little more each time. By the time the head is in me, I am begging him.”  He strokes Aramis’ sweat-damp hair back from his forehead.  “I think for you he’s not going to pull back; I think for you he’ll keep pushing until he’s buried inside you because he wants you to wake up tomorrow and know he loves you. As if you could ever forget being loved by a man like him."

Porthos meets Athos’ eyes and returns his smile. He’s right, Porthos hasn’t stopped, hasn’t pulled back, he just keeps pressing his lube-slick cock into Aramis and it’s taking Aramis’ breath away. “Okay?” Porthos asks.

“Yeah,” Aramis nods. “Yeah, it’s so good. You’re so good. Fuck!"

They take their time; even after Porthos is all the way in they don’t rush. Aramis pushes back and Porthos rolls forward and they fuck each other in waves.

Porthos doesn’t speed up, doesn’t lose his rhythm, he just keeps rolling his hips into Aramis until suddenly, with a little cry, he presses fully in and holds himself there. Aramis’ eyes are open, his mouth wide, dragging in deep breaths while Porthos spills inside him.  “I love you,” Aramis says, and Porthos slaps his hips against Aramis’ ass and cries out again.

“You’re perfect, both of you,” Athos says. He runs his hand up Porthos’ back, feeling the muscles still tense where he’s holding himself over Aramis. “I am the luckiest man to have you both. To be able to love you."

His forearms start to shake and Porthos collapses onto Aramis’ back. Kisses. Kisses at the nape of his neck, behind his ear, at the corner of his jaw. “Never gonna get tired of kissing you,” Porthos says.

Aramis brings their joined hands to his mouth and kisses every one of Porthos’ knuckles. “Never gonna be tired of you kissing me,” Porthos says.

With a quiet hiss, Porthos pulls out, taking the washcloth Athos has brought him. He wipes himself clean, tossing the washcloth to the hamper and flopping to the bed beside Aramis.

“Hips up,” Athos says, tugging at Aramis until he’s on his knees, his shoulders still resting on the bed. “Perfect.  Look at your perfect ass, already so ready for me, so wet. Someday, when we have all the time in the world to prepare and take our time, we’re going to do this again and I’m going to lick you clean after Porthos has you."

It’s so fucking filthy; Aramis feels himself shudder all over with want.  “Fuck. Yes! Put that on a list."

Still laughing under his breath, Athos slicks himself, presses the head of his cock against Aramis’ ass, and slides in.  Porthos is bigger, but Aramis is still so tight.  He drives himself into Aramis, fucking down into him and trying to find just the right angle to make Aramis gasp.

“Come here,” Athos says, bending to hook his arms under Aramis’ shoulders and tug him up until he’s splayed out over Athos’ lap. “You feel so perfect like this.”  Their range of motion is so much smaller now, but Athos makes up for it by punching his hips up, short, sharp fucks into Aramis, each one dragging over that spot that makes his vision white out.

“Please, don’t stop,” Aramis says. Athos is fucking him and Porthos is staring at him from his pillow, and Aramis doesn’t even know which one of them he’s talking to but, “Please. Fuck! Please, don’t stop."

“Will you come for me?” Athos asks, the words ghosting over Aramis’ neck. “If I wrap my hand around you will you come all over it?"

“Yes!” Aramis says, more sob than word. “I love you."

“I love you,” Athos says, and wraps his long fingers around Aramis cock, fucking it up into his fist.

Aramis lasts another minute, maybe two, but when he catches sight of Porthos’ eyes and sees the love and heat in them, he can’t hold back anymore.  Feeling Aramis’ balls pull up tight to his body, Athos bites down on the join of his shoulder and neck. He tightens his fingers around Aramis just enough to heighten the sensation but not enough to stop the orgasm that rips through him like a shock.  Aramis is still jerking in his fist, still spattering his own chest and Athos’ hand, when Athos pushes him back down to the bed.

“How long do you want to feel us?” he asks.

“As long as I can,” Aramis says and that is all Athos needs.  He puts one hand between Aramis’ shoulder blades and the other on his hip and just fucks him, watching his sweat drip onto Aramis' back. There’s little finesse to it, only the powerful, desperate wish that Aramis never forget them, this night, these days together.  The stimulation is just on the edge of ’too much’ for Aramis.  He winds his fingers into Porthos again and stares at him, mouth slack, and takes it. It’s all he can do, all he wants to do.

Just before he comes, Athos digs his fingers into Aramis’ hip hard enough to leave bruises. The split-second image of Aramis seeing those bruises in a mirror and touching them, smiling at them, is what pushes Athos over. He hisses through his teeth, bites into his own lip, and vows they’ll make all the noise they want when they’re together again.

“Love you,” he whispers into Aramis’ shoulder. “You okay?"

Aramis could get used to having post-orgasmic men draped over him like this. He loves the weight of them pressing him into the bed, the proof that they’re there, with him. He can feel Athos' sweat cooling on the back of his neck.

“I’m great,” he slurs.

“You might be for now, but you’re going to start sticking to the sheets before too long."

When had Porthos left the room?  Long enough ago for him to be coming back now with a couple of wet cloths.  Aramis feels like he should do this himself, but like the night before, it just feels too damn good to let them take care of him. He turns onto his back and smiles up at Athos. Those hands that were so demanding a minute ago are now gently cleaning him, wiping away their mess and kissing the damp skin.

Porthos opens the closet in the room and pulls out a fresh set of sheets and smiles at Aramis. “It’s killing me to mess with your glow like this, but if we try to sleep on these, you’re going to mess up Athos’ nice cleaning job. Plus everything will get crunchy."

“Thank you, Porthos, for that truly terrible thought.” Athos rolls his eyes.

“I love watching you two like this,” Aramis says with a grin. He stands, getting his wobbly knees under him and taking a second to make sure his legs still work. Porthos is looking at him with a cocked eyebrow.

“You okay?"

“Yes, it’s just that I seem to have been fucked to within an inch of my life."

Porthos starts stripping the fitted sheet, tugging at the corners and grinning at Aramis. “Nah, that was just a promise of things to come."

Athos stares at him. “You’re trying to figure out how to make the ‘come’ joke, aren’t you?"

Unapologetic, Porthos shrugs. “Well not _now_ I’m not.”  Together the three of them put fresh sheets on the bed and Athos promises they’ll put the others in the wash in the morning, they won’t leave them for Lee to do. Porthos tugs the comforter up and turns it back so they can all get in before he switches off the light.

In the dark, there are more kisses, sleepy and soft this time. There are whispers of what their plans are, when they’ll try to see each other next, how often they might be able to talk.  When Athos grabs his phone from the nightstand to set the alarm, he asks Aramis what his email is and sends him a note with contact information for both of them.

Aramis feels himself drifting off and jerks awake again, doesn’t want to go to sleep without saying this.  “I love you."

“I love you, too."

“I love you both."

They sleep.

 

It feels like Aramis doesn’t even get his eyes shut all the way when the sound of the alarm shakes them back open again.

He stretches, arching his back and curling his toes and just wrapping the moment around himself.

To no one in particular, he says, "It used to be that the these were the best, happiest minutes of my day. My favorite time. Those few minutes where I was still warm and safe in bed. I’d know I had the whole day ahead of me, and it was all promise and potential."

Porthos props his head on Aramis’ chest and smiles at him, ducking his head to kiss along each rib.

“And now?”  Athos asks. “Do you have a new favorite time?"

“No,” Aramis shakes his head and smiles at Athos. “No, with you two, the whole day feels like that."

Athos makes a little, startled sound of disbelief and crushes his mouth to Aramis’, kissing all the truth of that statement into him. Porthos curls up on the other side of Aramis, nose in his hair. “You’re not gonna forget us?"

Aramis turns to kiss him. “I never could."

 

There’s no traffic, nothing to slow them down, nothing to draw out the trip. They get coffee at a drive-thru but Aramis says he’ll get breakfast in the airport. “Is that okay? Are you two hungry?"

Athos shakes his head.

“We’ll eat at home,” Porthos says. “It’ll give Mama Lee a chance to fuss over us, and she loves that. We’ll need it by then.”  It’s the closest any of them has come to talking about the time when they won’t be talking, visiting, emailing. They’ll have four hours before he lands; for a second Aramis panics. What if that’s long enough for them to start having second thoughts?

Porthos reaches over to where Aramis is sitting in the passenger seat and squeezes his hand.

“I can hear you worrying from back here,” Athos says. “And I can assure you there’s no reason. We love you, Aramis. We will still love you when your plane lands. We will still love you next week. We will always love you."

Aramis rests his head against the seat, rolling it to the side until he’s facing Athos. “I’m in love with the most perfect men."

Porthos raises his eyebrows.  “Me and who else?”  Athos just rolls his eyes.

He won’t let them come in. “I’m going straight through security and then to the gate. Get home and let Lee look after you while I can’t."

They hug like they’re trying to join themselves together. Aramis kisses both of them, their faces, their necks, their mouths, their hands. He gets out of the car and bends to lean into the open passenger window for one last round of ‘I love you’s.

“Go,” Porthos says, “before we drag you back into the car and take you home."

Aramis nods. It’s best, he knows it, but every step he takes into the airport feels like another step away from his heart.  He touches the spot on his hip where he knows he still has bruises from Athos’ fingers. A press, a stroke, a reminder when he walks that they’re still with him for at least a little longer.

 

There’s a voicemail when the plane lands.

“You’re still in the air,” Athos says, “but we wanted you to have this when you land and to tell you that you’re the best Christmas present we’ve ever gotten."

“We love you!” Porthos calls.

“Call us when you get this."

Aramis holds his phone to his forehead and tries to settle his heart.  He takes a deep breath and calls the number on the voicemail.

“Hi. I’m on the ground. I love you."

 

The Miami airport on a Friday is already a zoo, with the Spring Break crowds pouring in it’s a nightmare.  The flight had been delayed twice, once before takeoff and again while it waited to land. By now, Aramis is ready to come out of his skin.

There are at least a hundred people between him and the exit from the secured terminal, and Aramis keeps bouncing up on his toes to look over their heads.

It’s Porthos he sees first, all those dark curls and that little bit of extra height.  “Excuse me,” Aramis says, trying to move through the crowd without hurting anyone. They’re close, they’re so close.  “Pardon me, I need to— can I get past— Excuse me— Just coming in behind you— _Excuse me_ —“  The last requires a bit more force but Aramis doesn’t care because there they are.  There they are. Real and right in front of him and here at last.

Porthos hitches his backpack further up on his shoulder and takes Aramis in his arms. “Fuck, it’s like it’s been forever since I got to do this."

Athos comes in from the side, and they each wrap an arm around him.

“You both look so good,” Aramis says. “You’re here. You’re _here_."

“Love you,” Athos says into the hair above Aramis’ ear. “Missed you so much."

“More than you could ever know,” Porthos says.

“Oh,” Aramis says, “I think I have an idea.”  There are a few brief kisses before Athos tugs them both out of the flow of traffic so they can each kiss Aramis properly.

“Well. Where to from here?” Porthos asks, his voice heavy with promise and all the places he’d like to be right now.

Aramis laughs and kisses him, quick and soft but so sweet.

“I love everything that voice is telling me, but there’s something we have to do first if we want the rest of this trip to go well."

“Lead the way,” Athos says.

“Come on,” Aramis tells them, “I can’t wait for you to meet my mom."

**Author's Note:**

> Amusingly, I my best guy friend does airfield maintenance at the Pittsburgh Airport, meaning he gets called in to plow snow. So I really do know how bad the weather has to be to ground planes going in and out of there. I'm relying on you all to forgive me for playing fast and loose with that reality, my motives are good.


End file.
